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^ .A* 1 













The Jolliest School of All 










BY ANGELA BRAZIL 


The Head Girl at the Gables 
A Harum Scarum School Girl 
The Princess of the School 
A Popular School Girl 
The Luckiest Girl in the School 
The Madcap of the School 
The Jolliest School of All 
Marjorie’s Best Year 






“ ‘YOU MEAN THINGS!’ RAGED PEACHY” 

—Page 124'■ 




The Jolliest School 

of All 


BY 

ANGELA BRAZIL 

* J 


Illustrated by IV. Smithson Broad head 



) 


NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

MCMXXIII 

















Copyright , 1922, by 

Frederick A. Stokes Company 


All Rights Reserved 




* c < 


First Published in the United States of America, 1923 


FEB 12 *23 





C1AG98269 

-w c l 





Dedicated 

to 


THE MANY CHARMING AMERICAN 
GIRLS WHOM I HAVE MET 

AND TO 

THOSE UNKNOWN SCHOOLGIRLS 
OVER THE ATLANTIC TO WHOM 
THIS LITTLE BOOK CARRIES MY 
HEARTIEST GREETINGS 

















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Off to Italy .. i 

II. The Villa Camellia ...... 16 

III. Hail, Columbia!.27 

IV. A Secret Sorority.41 

V. Fairy Godmothers, Limited ... .52 

VI. Among the Olive Groves ... 66 

VII. Lorna’s Enemy.81 

VIII. At Pompeii.. . . 93 

IX. Reprisals.113 

X. The School Carnival . . . .126 

XI. Up Vesuvius ...... 141 

XII. Tar and Feathers.156 

XIII. Peachy’s Pranks ...... 174 

XIV. The Villa Bleue.190 

XV. Peachy’s Birthday.213 

XVI. Concerning Juniors ..... 230 

XVII. The Anglo-Saxon League . . . 243 

XVIII. Greek Temples.257 

XIX. In Capri.272 

XX. The Cameron Clan.287 

XXL The Blue Grotto.303 





























\ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

“ ‘You mean things!’ raged Peachy” . . Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

“Irene waited obediently until she was addressed” . 46 

“‘Signorina! It is not permitted!’” .... 106 

“ ‘I wonder what that is?’ she exclaimed” . . .184 

“The amazement was mutual”.280 

“ ‘By all that’s sacred, where did you get this book?’ ” 


304 








The Jolliest School of All 












THE JOLLIEST SCHOOL OF ALL 


CHAPTER I 

Off to Italy 

In a top-story bedroom in an old-fashioned house 
in a northern suburb of London, a girl of fourteen 
was kneeling on the floor, turning out the contents 
of the bottom cupboards of a big bookcase. Her 
method of doing so was hardly tidy; she just tossed 
the miscellaneous assortment of articles down any¬ 
where, till presently she was surrounded by a mixed- 
up jumble of books, papers, paint-boxes, music, 
chalks, pencils, foreign stamps, picture post-cards, 
crests, balls of. knitting wool, skeins of embroidery 
silk, and odds and ends of all kinds. She groaned 
as the circle grew wider, yet the apparently inex¬ 
haustible cupboards were still uncleared. 

“Couldn’t have ever believed I’d have stowed so 
many things away here. And, of course, the one 
book I want isn’t to be found. That’s what always 
happens. It’s just my bad luck. Hello! Who’s call¬ 
ing ‘Renie’? I’m here! Here ! In my bedroom! 
Don’t yell the house down. Really, Vin, you’ve got 

a voice like a megaphone! You might think I was on 

1 


2 The Jolliest School of All 

the top of the roof. What d’you want now? Vm 
busy!” 

“So it seems,” commented the fair-haired boy of 
seventeen, sauntering into his sister’s room and taking 
a somewhat insecure seat upon a fancy table, where, 
with hands in pockets, he regarded her quizzically. 
“Great Scott, what a turn out! You look like a 
magician in the midst of a magic circle. Are you 
going to witch the lot into newts and toads ? Whence 
this thusness? You won’t persuade me that it’s a fit 
of neatness and you’re actually tidying. Doesn’t 
exactly seem you , somehow!” 

“Hardly,” replied Irene, with her head inside a 
cupboard. “Fact is, I’m looking for my history book. 
I can’t think where the wretched thing has gone to. 
School begins to-morrow, and I haven’t touched my 
holiday tasks yet; and what Miss Gordon will say if 
I come without those exercises I can’t imagine. I’m 
sure I flung all my books into this cupboard, and, of 
course, here’s the chemistry, which I don’t want, but 
never so much as a single leaf of the history. Don’t 
grin! You aggravate me. I believe you’ve taken it 
away to tease me. Have you? Confess now! It’s 
in your pocket all the time?” 

Irene looked eagerly at the bulging outline of her 
brother’s coat, but her newly formed hopes were 
doomed to disappointment. 

“Never seen it! What should / want with your 
old history book? I’ve finished for good with such 
vanities, thank the Fates!” 


Off to Italy 3 

“Don’t rub it in. It’s a beastly shame you should 
be allowed to leave school while I must go slaving on 
at Miss Gordon’s. Ugh! How I hate the place! 
The idea of going back there to-morrow! It’s sim¬ 
ply appalling. A whole term of dreary grind, and 
only a fortnight’s holiday at the end of it. Miss 
Gordon gives the stingiest holidays. If my fairy god¬ 
mother could appear and grant me a wish I should 
choose never, never, never to see St. Osmund’s Col¬ 
lege in all my life again. I’d ask her to wave her 
magic wand and transport me over the sea.” 

Irene spoke hotly, flinging books about with scant 
regard for their covers. Her slim hands were dusty, 
and her short, yellow hair as ruffled as her temper. 
There was even a suspicion of moisture about the 
corners of her gray eyes. She rubbed them sur¬ 
reptitiously with a ball of a handkerchief when her 
head happened to be inside the cupboard. She did 
not wish Vincent to witness this phase of her emo¬ 
tions. 

“Every girl ought to be provided with a decent 
fairy godmother,” she gulped. “If mine did her 
duty she’d come to rescue me now. Yes, she would, 
and be quick about it too!” 

How very seldom in the course of an ordinary life 
such wishes are granted! Not once surely in a mil¬ 
lion times! Yet at that identical moment, almost 
as if in direct answer to her daughter’s vigorous ti¬ 
rade, Mrs. Beverley entered the room. There was 
a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, and her whole 


4 


The Jolliest School of All 

atmosphere seemed to radiate news. She ran in as 
joyously as a girl, clapping her hands and evidently 
brimming over with something she was about to 
communicate. 

“Why, Mums! Mums—darling! What’s the 
matter?” asked Irene. “You look as if you’d had 
a fortune left you. Tell us at once.” 

“Not quite a fortune, but next best to it,” said 
Mrs. Beverley, sitting down on the end of the sofa. 
“Daddy says I may tell you now, bairns. It has all 
happened so suddenly, and has been arranged in a 
rush. You remember Dad mentioning a few weeks 
ago that Mr. Southern, the firm’s representative in 
Naples, was very ill? Well, Mr. Fenton has decided 
to send Dad to Italy to take his place, for a year at 
any rate, and perhaps longer. We’re to start in a 
fortnight.” 

Such a stupendous announcement required a little 
realizing. Vincent removed his hands from his 
pockets. 

“You don’t mean to say we’re all going?” he in¬ 
quired. “Jemima! Leaving London fogs and tod¬ 
dling off to Italy? Materkins, you take my breath 
away! How’s the whole business to be fixed up so 
soon ?” 

“Quite easily. We shall let this house, just as it 
is, to Mr. Atherton, who will come from the Nor¬ 
folk branch to fill Father’s post in London. We are 
to rent Mr. Southern’s flat in Naples, while he takes 
a voyage round the world to try to regain his 




5 


Off to Italy 


health. Dad means to put you into his office in 
Naples, Vin. Don’t look so aghast! It’s high time 
you started, and it will be a splendid opening for 
you. And as for Renie—of course she’s too young 
to leave school yet-” 

“Mums! Mums!’’ interrupted an agonized voice, 
as Irene took a flying leap over her circle of books 
and, plumping herself on the sofa, clutched tightly 
at her mother’s sleeve. “You’re not going to leave 
me behind at Miss Gordon’s? You couldn’tl Oh, 
I’d die! Mums darling, please! If the family’s 
going to jaunt abroad I’ve got to jaunt too! Say 
yes, quick, quick!’’ 

“What a little tempest you are! Cheer up! 
We’d never any intention of deserting you. We’ll 
stick together for a while at any rate, though 
when we arrive in Naples you’ll be packed off to 
a boarding-school, Madam, so I give you fair warn¬ 
ing.” 

“An Italian school?’’ 

Irene’s gray eyes were round with horror. 

“No, an Anglo-American school for English-speak¬ 
ing girls. Do you remember that charming Mr. 
Proctor who stayed with us last year on his way from 
New York to Naples? His daughter is at this school, 
and he strongly recommended it. It seems just 
exactly the place for you, Renie. It will solve a 
great problem if we can educate you out there. It 
would have complicated matters very much if we 
had been obliged to leave you in England. As it is 



I 


6 The Jolliest School of All 

you’ll be quite near to Naples, and can come home 
for all your holidays.” 

“Hooray! Then I’m not to go to Miss Gordon’s 

• -m 

again r 

“As we start in a fortnight it’s not worth while 
your beginning a fresh term at St. Osmund’s.” 

“Then I needn’t bother to find the hateful old 
history book. I’m so glad I didn’t do those wretched 
holiday tasks—they’d just have been sheer waste. 
Mums, I’m so excited! May I begin and pack for 
Italy now? I can’t wait.” 

For the next two weeks great confusion reigned in 
the Beverley household. It is no light matter to de¬ 
cide what you need to take abroad, what you wish 
to lock up at home, and to leave your establishment 
in apple-pie order for the use of strangers. Inven¬ 
tories of furniture, linen, blankets, and china had to 
be written and checked, a rigorous selection made of 
the things to be packed, and the luggage cut down 
to the limits prescribed by the railway companies. 
Poor Mrs. Beverley was nearly worn out when at last 
the overflowing boxes were fastened, the bags and 
hold-alls were strapped, and the taxis, which were 
to take them to the station, arrived at the door. 
Tears stood in her eyes as she crossed the threshold 
of her own house. 

“It’s a tremendous wrench!” she fluttered. 

“Never mind, Mums!” consoled Irene, linking her 
arm in her mother’s. “It’s an adventure, and we all 
want to go. You’ll love it when we’re once off. No, 


7 


Off to Italy 

don’t look back: it’s unlucky! Your bag’s in the cab; 
I saw Jessie put it in. Hooray for Italy, say I, and 
a good riddance to smoky old London! In another 
couple of days we shall be down south and turning 
into Romeos and Juliets as fast as we can. You’ll 
see Dad learning a guitar and strumming it under 
your balcony, and serenading you no end.” 

“Hardly at his time of life!” said Mrs. Beverley; 
but the joke amused her, she wiped her eyes, and, as 
Irene had hoped and intended, stepped smiling into 
the waiting taxi, and left her old home with laughter 
instead of with tears. 

In her fourteen years of experience Irene had 
traveled very little, so the migration to Italy was 
a fairy journey so far as she was concerned. To 
catch the boat express they had made an early start, 
and they breakfasted in the train between London 
and Dover. It was fun to sit in comfortable padded 
armchairs, eating fish or ham and eggs, and watch¬ 
ing the landscape whirling past; fun to see the deft¬ 
handed waiters nipping about with trays or teacups; 
and fun to observe the occupants of the other tables 
in the car. There was a fat, good-natured French¬ 
man who amused Irene, a languid English lady who 
annoyed her, an elderly gourmand who excited her 
disgust, and a neighboring party, one member of 
which at least aroused her interest and caused her to 
cast cautious side glances in the direction of the next 
table. This center of attraction was a small girl 
about eight or nine years of age, a dainty elfin little 


8 


The Jolliest School of All 

person with bewitching blue eyes and a mop of short, 
flaxen curls. She was evidently well used to travel¬ 
ing, for she would lift a tiny finger to summon the 
waiter, and gave him her orders with all the savoir- 
faire of an experienced diner-out. Perhaps her clear- 
toned treble voice was a trifle too high-pitched for 
the occasion, and would have been better had it 
been duly modulated, but her parents seemed proud 
of her conversational powers and allowed her to talk 
for the benefit of anybody within ear-shot. That 
she excited comment was manifest, for many looks 
were turned to her corner. The criticisms on her 
were complimentary or the reverse. “Isn’t she per¬ 
fectly sweet?” gushed a young lady at Irene’s left. 
“Sweet? She ought to be in the nursery instead of 
showing oft here!” came a tart voice in reply, from 
some one whose face was invisible but whose back 
and shoulders expressed an attitude of strong disap¬ 
proval. “Hope we shan’t be boxed up with her in 
the same carriage to Paris! I vote we give her a 
wide berth at Calais.” 

Irene laughed softly. The little flaxen-haired girl 
attracted her; she felt she would have gravitated 
towards her compartment rather than have avoided 
her. But traveling companions were evidently more 
a matter of chance than choice, for the crowd that 
turned out of the train at Dover became mixed and 
mingled like the colored bits of glass in a kaleido¬ 
scope. Irene realized that for the moment the one 
supreme and breathless object in life was to cling to 


9 


Off to Italy 

the rest of her family, and not to get separated from 
them or lost, as they pushed through narrow bar¬ 
riers, showed tickets and passports, traversed gang¬ 
ways, and finally found themselves on board the 
Channel steamer bound for France. Father, who had 
made the crossing many times, scrambled instantly 
for deck-chairs, and installed his party comfortably 
in the lee of a funnel, where they would be sheltered 
from the wind. Mrs. Beverley, who had inspected 
the ladies’ saloon below, sank on her seat, and 
tucked a rug round her knees with a sigh of relief. 

“It will be the ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’ down¬ 
stairs,” she remarked. “I’d rather stay on deck 
however cold it is. The mother of the wee yellow¬ 
haired lassie is lying down already, evidently pre¬ 
pared to be ill. The stewardess says we shall have 
a choppy passage. She earns her tips, poor woman! 
Thanks, Vincent! Yes, I’d like the air-cushion, 
please, and that plaid out of the hold-all. No, I 
won’t have a biscuit now; I prefer to wait till we 
get on terra firma again.” 

Irene, sitting warmly wrapped up on her deck¬ 
chair, watched the white cliffs of Dover recede from 
her gaze as the vessel left the port and steamed out 
into the Channel. It was the last of “Old England,” 
and she knew that much time must elapse before she 
would see the shores of her birthplace again. What 
would greet her in the foreign country to which she 
was going? New sights, new sounds, new interests— 
perhaps new friends? The thought of it all was an 


10 The Jolliest School of All 

exhilaration. Others might seem sad at a break with 
former associations, but as for herself she was start¬ 
ing a fresh life, and she meant to get every scrap 
of enjoyment out of it that was practically possible. 

The stewardess had prophesied correctly when she 
described the voyage as “choppy.” The steamer 
certainly pitched and tossed in a most uncomfortable 
fashion, and it was only owing to the comparative 
steadiness of her seat amidships that Irene escaped 
that most wretched of complaints, mat de mer. She 
sat very still, with rather white cheeks, and refused 
Vincent’s offers of biscuits and chocolates: her sole 
salvation, indeed, was not to look at the heaving sea, 
but to keep her eyes fixed upon the magazine which. 
she made a pretense of reading. Fortunately the 
Dover-Calais crossing is short, and, before Neptune 
had claimed her as one of his victims, they were once 
more in smooth waters and steaming into harbor. 

Then again the kaleidoscope turned, and the crowd 
of passengers remingled and walked over gangways, 
and along platforms and up steep steps, and jostled 
through the Customs, and said “Rien a declarer ” to 
the officials, who peeped inside their bags to find tea 
or tobacco, and had their luggage duly chalked, and 
showed their passports once more, and finally, after 
a bewildering half-hour of bustle and hustle, found 
themselves, with all their belongings intact, safely in 
the train for Paris. Irene had caught brief glimpses 
of the child whom she named “Little Flaxen,” whose 
mother, in a state of collapse, had been almost car- 


11 


Off to Italy 

ried off the vessel, but revived when she was on dry 
land again: a maid was in close attendance, and two 
porters were stowing their piles of hand-luggage in¬ 
side a specially reserved compartment. “The cross 
lady won’t be boxed up with them at any rate,” said 
Irene. “I saw her get in lower down the train.” 

It was dark when they arrived in Paris, so Irene 
had only a confused impression of an immense rail¬ 
way station, of porters in blue blouses, of a babel of 
noise and shouting in a foreign language which 
seemed quite different from the French she had 
learned at school, of clinging very closely to Father’s 
arm, of a drive through lighted streets, of a hotel 
where dinner was served in a salon surrounded by 
big mirrors, then bed, which seemed the best thing 
in the world, for she was almost too weary to keep 
her eyes open. 

“If every day is going to be like this we shall be 
tired out by the time we reach Naples,” she thought, 
as she sank down on her pillow. “Traveling is the 
limit.” 

Eleven hours of sleep, however, made a vast dif¬ 
ference in her attitude towards their long journey. 
When she came downstairs next morning she was 
all eagerness to see Paris. 

“We have the whole day here,” said Mrs. Bever¬ 
ley, “so we may as well get as much out of it as we 
can. Daddy has business appointments to keep, but 
you and I and Vin, Renie, will take a taxi and have a 
look at some of the sights, won’t we?” 


12 The Jolliest School of All 

“Rather!” agreed the young people, hurrying over 
their coffee and rolls. 

“I wouldn’t miss Paris for worlds,” added Vin¬ 
cent; “only don’t spend the whole time inside shops, 
Mater. That’s all this fellow bargains for.” 

“We’ll compromise and make it half and half,” 
laughed Mother. 

A single day is very brief space in which to see the 
beauties of Paris, but the Beverleys managed to fit 
a great deal into it, and to include among their activi¬ 
ties a peep at the Louvre, a drive in the Bois de 
Boulogne, a visit to Napoleon’s Tomb, half an hour 
in a cinema, and a rush through several of the finest 
and largest shops. 

“It’s different from London—quite!” decided 
Irene, at the end of the jaunt. “It’s lighter and 
brighter, somehow, and the streets are wider and 
have more trees planted in them. It’s a terrible 
scurry, and I should be run over if I tried to cross 
the street. The shops aren’t any better than ours 
really, though they make more fuss about them. 
The little children and the small pet dogs are ador¬ 
able. The cinema was horribly disappointing, be¬ 
cause they were all American films, not French ones; 
but that light that falls from the domed roof down 
on to Napoleon’s tomb was worth coming across the 
Channel to see. Yes, Mummie dear, I thoroughly 
like Paris. I’m only sorry we have to leave it so 
soon.” 

The train for Rome was to start at nine o’clock 


13 


Off to Italy 

in the evening, and immediately after dinner the 
Beverleys made their way to the station. It would 
be a thirty-eight hour journey, and they had en¬ 
gaged two sleeping compartments, wagon-lits as they 
are called on the Continental express. Mrs. Bever¬ 
ley and Irene were to share one, and Mr. Beverley 
and Vincent the other. The beds were arranged like 
berths on board ship, and Irene, who occupied the 
upper one, found, much to her amusement, a little 
ladder placed in readiness for her climb aloft. 

“I don’t need to use that!” she exclaimed, scramb¬ 
ling up with the agility gained in her school gymnas¬ 
ium. “How silly of the conductor to put it for 
me.” 

“How could the poor man tell who was to occupy 
the berth! You might have been a fat old lady for 
anything he knew!” replied Mrs. Beverley, settling 
herself on the mattress below. 

It was a funny sensation to lie in bed in the jolt¬ 
ing train, and Irene slept only in snatches, waking 
frequently to hear clanking of chains, shrieking of 
engines, shouting of officials at stations, and other 
disturbing noises. As dawn came creeping through 
the darkness she drew the curtain aside and looked 
from the window. What a glorious sight met her 
astonished gaze! They were passing over the Alps, 
and all around were immense snow-covered moun¬ 
tains, great gorges full of dark fir forests, and rush¬ 
ing streams of green glacier water. It was very 
cold, and she was glad to pull her rug up, and later 


14 The Jolliest School of All 

to drink the hot coffee which the conducteur made on 
a spirit-lamp in the corridor and brought to those 
who had ordered it overnight. 

Irene never forgot that long journey on the Con¬ 
tinental express. The sleeping compartments be¬ 
came sitting-rooms by day, for the berths turned into 
sofas, and a table was unfolded, where it would 
have been possible to write or sew if she had wished. 
She could do nothing, however, but stare at the land¬ 
scape; the snow-capped mountains and the great 
ravines and gorges were a revelation in the way of 
scenery, and it was enough occupation to look out 
of the window. Switzerland and Northern Italy 
were a dream of wild, rugged beauty, but she woke 
on the following morning to find the train racing 
among olive groves and orange trees, and to catch 
glimpses of gay, unknown, wild flowers blooming 
on the railway banks. Here and there were stretches 
of the blue Mediterranean; and oxen and goats in 
the fields gave a vivid foreign aspect to the country. 
Everything—trees, houses, landscape, and people— 
seemed unfamiliar and un-English, yet strangely fas¬ 
cinating. The bright land with its sunshine appeared 
to be welcoming her. 

“I shall like it! I shall like it! I shall like it!” 
said Irene to herself, hanging out of the open win¬ 
dow of their compartment and watching some pic¬ 
turesque children who were waving a greeting to 
the train. “I know I shall like it!” 

“Put your hat on and strap up your hold-all,” 


IS 


Off to Italy 

said Father’s voice in the corridor outside. “Every¬ 
body else has luggage ready, and in another ten 
minutes or so we shall be in Rome.” 


CHAPTER II 


The Villa Camellia 

The Beverleys did not break their journey in 
Rome, but merely changed trains and pushed on 
southward. Irene was sorry at the time not to see 
the imperial city, but afterwards she was glad that 
her first impression of an Italian town should have 
been of Naples. Naples! Is there any place like it 
in the whole world? Irene thought not, as she stood 
on her veranda next morning and gazed across the 
blue bay to where Vesuvius was sending a thin col¬ 
umn of smoke into the cloudless sky. Below her 
lay the public gardens, in which spring flowers were 
blooming, though it was only the end of January, 
and beyond was a panorama of white houses, green 
shutters, palm trees, picturesque boats, and a quay 
thronged with traffic. To that harbor and that 
blue stretch of sea she was bound this very day, 
for Father and Mother had arranged to take her 
straight to her new school, and leave her there be¬ 
fore they established themselves in their flat. 

“We haven’t any time for sightseeing at present, 
dear,” said Mrs. Beverley, when Irene begged for 
at least a peep at the streets of Naples. “We must 

put off these jaunts until the Easter holidays. The 

16 


17 


The Villa Camellia 

term has begun at the Villa Camellia, and you ought 
to set to work at your lessons at once. Don’t pull 
such a doleful face. Be thankful you’re going to 
school in such a glorious spot. We might have 
left you at Miss Gordon’s.” 

“I’d have run away and followed you somehow, 
Mums darling! 1 don’t mind being a few miles off, 
but I couldn’t bear to feel the Channel and the 
whole of France and Switzerland and Italy lay be¬ 
tween us. It’s too far.” 

“Yes, our little family quartette is rather insepar¬ 
able,” agreed Mother. “It’s certainly nice to think 
that we’re all ‘within hail.’ ” 

The school, recommended to Mr. and Mrs. Bever¬ 
ley by their American friend, Mr. Proctor, was sit¬ 
uated at the small town of Fossato, not far from 
Naples. The easiest way of getting there was by 
sea, so Irene’s luggage was wheeled down to the 
quay, and the family embarked on a coasting steamer. 
Father and Mother were, of course, taking her, and 
Vincent accompanied them, because they could not 
leave him alone in a strange city. 

“It will be your last holiday though, young man,” 
said Mr. Beverley jokingly, “so make the most of 
it. To-morrow you must come with me to the office 
and start your new career. I don’t know whether the 
Villa Camellia observes convent rules, and whether 
you will be admitted. If not, you must wait outside 
the gate while we see Miss Rodgers.” 

“Oh, surely she wouldn’t be so heartless?” 


18 The jolliest School of All 

“That remains to be seen. In a foreign country 
the regulations are probably very strict.” 

The Beverleys were not the only British people 
on board the steamer. Parties of tourists were go¬ 
ing for the day’s excursion, and as much English as 
Italian or French might be heard spoken among the 
passengers. Two groups, who sat near them on 
deck, attracted Irene’s attention. The central fig¬ 
ure of the one was a girl slightly taller than herself 
—a girl with a long, pointed nose, dark, hard, bright 
eyes, penciled eyebrows, beautiful teeth, and a nice 
color. She was talking in a loud and affected voice, 
and laying down the law on many topics to several 
amused and smiling young naval officers who were 
of the party. An elder girl, like her but with a 
sweeter mouth and softer eyes, seemed to be trying 
to restrain her, and occasionally exclaimed, “Oh, 
Mabel!” at some more than ordinary sally of wit; 
but the younger girl talked on, posing in rather 
whimsical attitudes, and letting her roving glance 
stray over the tourists close by, as if judging the ef¬ 
fect she was making upon them. 

“She’s showing off,” decided Irene privately. “Is 
that ‘Villa Camellia’ on the label of her bag? I 
hope to goodness she’s not going to school with me. 
Hello! Who’s that talking English on the other 
side? Why, Little Flaxen for all the world! 
What’s she followed us down here for?” 

The small, fair-haired girl, whom they had seen 
in the train to Dover, was undoubtedly claiming pub- 


19 


The Villa Camellia 

lie notice on their right. Her high-pitched, childish 
voice was descanting freely about everything she saw, 
and people smiled at her quaint questions and com¬ 
ments. Her mother, still very pale and languid, 
made no effort to silence her, and her father seemed 
rather to encourage her, and to exploit her remarks 
for the entertainment of several gentlemen friends. 

A little bored by the evident self-advertisement of 
these rival belles, Irene moved away with Vincent 
to a quieter corner of the deck. She was to see more 
of them soon, however. They both disembarked 
when the steamer reached Fossato, their luggage was 
piled upon the carriages, and she watched them drive 
away up the steep, narrow road that led into the 
town. 

The Beverleys had decided to have an early lunch 
at the hotel by the quay before taking Irene to 
school. It was their last meal together, so she 
was allowed to choose the menu, and regaled the 
family on hitherto unknown Italian dishes, winding 
up with coffee, ices, and chocolates. 

“I’m glad you don’t cater for us every day, Renie, 
or I should soon be ruined,” said Father, as the 
waiter brought him the bill. “Now are you ready? 
If we don’t hurry and get you up quickly to school 
we shall miss the boat back to Naples. Another 
package of chocolates! You unconscionable child! 
Well, put it in your pocket and console yourself with 
it at bedtime. The concierge says our vetturino is 
waiting—not that any Italian coachman minds doing 


20 The Jolliest School of All 

that! All the same, time is short and we had better 
make a start.” 

In that first drive through the narrow, steep, 
stone-paved streets of Fossato Irene was too ex¬ 
cited to take in any details except a general impres¬ 
sion of rich, foreign color and high, white walls. 
Afterwards, when she came to know the town better, 
she realized its subtler points. She felt as one in a 
dream when the carriage turned through a great 
gate, and passed along an avenue of orange trees 
to a large, square house, color-washed pink, and 
approached by a flight of marble steps. What hap¬ 
pened next she could never clearly recall. She re¬ 
membered the agony of a short wait in the drawing¬ 
room until Miss Rodgers arrived, how the whole 
party, including Vincent, were shown some of the 
principal rooms of the house, an agitated moment 
of good-by kisses, then the sound of departing 
wheels, and a sudden overwhelming sensation that, 
for the first time in her life, she was alone in a for¬ 
eign land. Foreign and yet familiar, for the Villa 
Camellia was a skillful combination of the best out 
of several countries. Its setting was Italian, its 
decorations were French, and its fifty-six pupils were 
all unmistakably and undoubtedly Anglo-Saxon. 
Irene was assured on this point immediately, for 
Miss Rodgers, calling to a girl who was passing 
down the corridor, gave the newcomer into her 
charge with instructions to take her straight to the 
senior recreation room. 


21 


The Villa Camellia 

“Our afternoon classes begin at 2.30,” she re¬ 
marked, “but you will have just ten minutes in which 
to be introduced to some of your schoolfellows. 
Elsie Craig will show you everything.” 

Elsie made no remark to Irene—perhaps she 
was shy—but, starting off at a quick pace, led her 
down a long passage into a room on the ground floor. 
It was a pleasant room with a French window that 
opened out on to a veranda, where, over a marble 
balustrade, there was a view of an orange garden 
and the sea. Round a table were collected several 
older girls, watching with deep interest a kettle, 
which was beginning to sing, upon a spirit-lamp. 
They looked up with surprise as Elsie ushered in the 
new pupil. 

“Hello ! You don’t mean to tell us there’s another 
of them!” exclaimed a dark girl with a long pigtail. 
“We’ve had two already! Why are they pouring on 
us to-day, I should like to know? It’s a perfect 
deluge.” 

“I hate folks butting in when the term has begun,” 
said another grumpily. 

“We shall be swamped with ‘freshies’ soon,” 
grunted the owner of the spirit-lamp. “If they ex¬ 
pect coffee I tell them beforehand they just won’t 
get it.” 

“She says her name’s Irene Beverley,” volunteered 
Elsie Craig, in a perfunctory voice, as if she were 
performing an obvious duty and getting it over. 

“Oh, indeed!” 


22 The Jolliest School of All 

“Well, now we know, so there’s an end of it.” 

It could hardly be called a flattering reception. 
The general attitude of the girls was the reverse of 
friendly. The kettle was suddenly boiling, and they 
were concentrating their attention upon the making 
of the coffee, and rather ostentatiously leaving the 
stranger outside the charmed circle. Irene, used to 
school life, knew, however, that she was on trial, 
and that on her present behavior would probably 
depend the whole of her future career. She did 
not attempt to force her unwelcome presence upon 
her companions, but, withdrawing to the window, 
pretended to be utterly absorbed in contemplation 
of the scenery. She kept the corner of her eye, 
nevertheless, upon the group at the table. The girl 
with the long pigtail had made the coffee and was 
pouring it into cups. A shorter girl nudged her and 
whispered something, at which she shook her head 
emphatically. But the short girl persisted. 

“I’m superstitious,” affirmed the latter aloud. 
“One’s for sorrow, two’s for joy, and three’s for 
luck! She’s the third to-day and she may be a mas¬ 
cot.” 

“I’d rather have chocolates than mascots,” said 
an injured voice from behind a coffee-cup. 

The chance remark gave Irene the very oppor¬ 
tunity she needed. She suddenly remembered the 
chocolates her father had handed her before she left 
the hotel, and, producing the package, she offered its 
contents. After a visible moment of hesitation the 


23 


The Villa Camellia 

girl with the long pigtail accepted her hospitality, 
and passed the delicacies round. Instantly all were 
chumping almonds, and the icy atmosphere thawed 
into summer. Everybody began to talk at once. 

“There’s a spare cup here if you’d like some coffee. 
Yes, Rachel, I shall offer it!” 

“I suppose you’re over fourteen?” 

“We may make coffee after lunch if we’re seniors, 
but the kids aren’t allowed any.” 

“You’ve just one minute to drink it in before the 
bell rings.” 

“Hustle up if you want to finish it.” 

“I’ll bet a cookie you’re a real sport.” 

“There’s the bell! Don’t choke or you’ll blight 
your young career.” 

“We’ve got to scoot quick!” 

“Come along with me and I’ll show you where.” 

Irene, taken in tow by a girl with a freckled nose, 
was hurried along the corridor and up the stairs to 
the classrooms. Although she had scarcely spoken 
a word she had undoubtedly gained a victory, and 
had established her welcome among at least a sec¬ 
tion of her schoolfellows. She did not yet know 
their names, but names are a detail compared with 
personalities, and with some members of the coffee- 
party she felt that she might ultimately become 
chums. 

“Don’t I bless Dad for those chocs!” she thought 
as she took her seat at a desk. “They worked the 
trick. If I’d had nothing to offer that crew I might 


24 The Jolliest School of All 

have sat out in the cold forevermore. The dark 
pigtail is decent enough, but if it comes to a matter 
of chumming give me ‘Freckles’ for choice.” 

The Villa Camellia was a high-class boarding- 
school for English-speaking girls whose parents were 
residents, permanently or temporarily, in the neigh¬ 
borhood of Naples. It was generally described as 
an Anglo-American college, for the arrangements 
were accommodated to suit the customs of both sides 
of the Atlantic. Miss Rodgers and her partner, 
Miss Morley, the two principals, came respectively 
from London and New York; one teacher had been 
trained in Boston, and another at Oxford, while 
the British section of the community included girls 
from South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. 
Pupils belonging to other European races were not 
received, the object of the college being to preserve 
the nationality of girls who must of necessity be edu¬ 
cated in a foreign land, and whose parents did not 
wish them to attend Italian schools. The arrange¬ 
ments were of course modified by the climate and 
by the customs of the country. Outwardly the Villa 
Camellia resembled a convent. Its garden was sur¬ 
rounded by immensely high walls edged with broken 
glass, and the only entrance was by the great gate, 
which was solemnly unlocked by old Antonio, the 
porter, who inspected all comers through a grille be¬ 
fore granting them admittance. Small parties in 
charge of a teacher were taken at stated times for 
walks or excursions in the neighborhood, but no 


25 


The Villa Camellia 

girl might ever go out unless escorted by a mistress 
or by her parents. The Villa Camellia was a little 
world in itself, and as much retired from the town 
of Fossato as the great, gray monastery that 
crowned the summit of the neighboring mountain. 

Fortunately the grounds were very large, so there 
was room for most of the activities in which the girls 
cared to indulge. Tennis and netball were the prin¬ 
cipal games. There were several courts, and there 
was a gymnasium, where the school assembled for 
exercise on wet days. From two flagstaffs on the 
roof floated the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes 
respectively. It was an understood fact that here 
Britannia and Columbia marched hand in hand with 
an entente cordiale that recognized no distinctions 
whatsoever. 

Miss Rodgers and Miss Morley, who respectively 
represented the interests of Britain and America, 
were tremendous friends. Miss Rodgers was fair 
and rather plump and rosy-faced and calm, with a 
manner that parents described as “motherly,” and 
a leaning towards mathematics as the basis of a 
sound education. Miss Morley, on the contrary, was 
thin and dark and excitable, and taught the English 
literature and the general knowledge classes, and was 
rumored—though this no doubt was libel—to dis¬ 
like mathematics to the extent of not even adequately 
keeping her own private accounts. The pair were 
such opposites that they worked in absolute harmony, 
Miss Rodgers being mainly responsible for the dis- 


26 The Jolliest School of All 

cipline of the establishment, and acting judge and 
court of appeal in her study, while Miss Morley 
supplied the initiative, and kept the girls interested 
in a large number of pursuits and hobbies which 
could be carried on within the walls of the house and 
garden. 

As regards the fifty-six British and American 
maidens who made up this brisk little community 
we will leave some of them to speak for themselves 
in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER III 

Hail, Columbia! 

Irene, finding herself in her new form, looked 
round inquiringly. A few of the girls with whom 

she had taken coffee were seated at desks in the same 

♦ 

room, but the rest of the faces were unfamiliar. 
Her teacher entered her name on the register, and 
seemed to expect her to understand the lesson which 
was in progress, but the subject was much in advance 
of what she had hitherto learned at Miss Gordon’s, 
and it was very difficult for her to pick up the threads 
of it. She grew more and more bewildered as the 
afternoon passed on, and though Miss Bickford gave 
her several hints, and even stopped the class once to 
explain a point, Irene felt that most of the instruc¬ 
tion had been completely over her head. It was 
with a sense of intense relief that she heard the 
closing bell ring, and presently filed with the rest 
of the school into the dining-room for tea. Her 
place at table was between two girls who utterly 
ignored her presence, and did not address a single 
remark to her. Each talked diligently to the neigh¬ 
bor on either side, but poor Irene seemed an in¬ 
sulator in the electric current of conversation, and 

had perforce to eat her meal in dead silence. She 

27 


28 The Jolliest School of All 

was walking away afterwards in a most depressed 
condition of mind, when at the door some one 
touched her on the arm. 

“You’re wanted in the senior recreation room,” 
said a brisk voice. “Rachel has convened a general 
meeting and told me to tell you. So hurry up and 

don’t keep folks waiting. We want to get off to ten- 

„• _ ?> 
ms. 

Marveling why her actions should hinder the 
tennis of the rest of the community, Irene obeyed 
the message, and presented herself in the room where 
she had been introduced on her arrival. It was 
now full of girls of all ages, some sitting, some 
standing, and some squatting on the floor. Rachel 
Moseley, the owner of the long dark pigtail, seemed 
in a position of command, for she motioned Irene 
to a vacant chair, then rapped on the table with a 
ruler to ensure silence. She had to tap not once but 
several times, and finally called: 

“When you’ve all done talking I’ll begin.” There 
was an instant hush at that, and, though a few faint 
snickers were heard, most of the audience composed 
itself decently to listen to the voice of authority. 

“I’ve called this meeting,” began Rachel, “because 
to-day an unusual thing has happened. Three new 
girls have arrived, although the term is well under 
way. By the rules of our society they must give 
some account of themselves, and we must explain 
what is required from them. Will they kindly stand 
up?” 


29 


Hail, Columbia! 

Blushing considerably Irene rose to her feet, in 
company with the dark-eyed damsel who had crossed 
in the same steamer with her from Naples, and the 
fair-haired child whom she had privately christened 
Little Flaxen. 

“Name and nationality?” demanded Rachel, pen¬ 
cil and note-book in hand. She wrote down Irene 
Beverley, British, without further comment; the fact 
was evidently too obvious for discussion. At 
“Mabel Hughes, Australian, born in Patagonia,” 
she demurred slightly, and she hesitated altogether 
at “Desiree Legrand.” 

“That’s not English!” she objected. “We don’t 
reckon to take Frenchies here, you know!” 

“But I’m not French,” came the high-pitched voice 
of the little, fair-haired girl. “I’m as English as 
anybody. I am indeed!” 

“Then why have you got a French name?” 

“Legrand isn’t French—we come from Jersey.” 

“Very much on the borderland,” sniffed Rachel. 
“What about Desiree? Not much wholesome 
Anglo-Saxon there at any rate.” 

“I was called Desiree because I was so very much 
desired. Mother says it just fits me.” 

An indignant titter went round the room and 
Rachel frowned. 

“I’m afraid you won’t find yourself so much de¬ 
sired here,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll enter you 
British, though I have my doubts. Now come 
along, all three of you, and lay your hands on this 


30 The Jolliest School of All 

book. You’ve got to take an oath of allegiance. 
I’ll repeat the words, and you must say them after 
me: 

“ ‘I hereby promise and vow that being of Anglo- 
Saxon birth I will uphold the integrity of Great 
Britain and her colonies and of the United States 
of America, and strive my utmost to maintain their 
credit in a foreign land.’ Now then, do you under¬ 
stand what your oath means?” 

Her eyes rested on Irene as she asked the ques¬ 
tion. That much embarrassed damsel stuttered hesi¬ 
tatingly : 

“We’re not to trouble our heads about learning 
foreign languages?” 

A delighted chuckle came from several members 
of the audience at this interpretation of the vow. 
Rachel hastily condescended to explain. 

“Oh, no! You’ll have to study French and Ital¬ 
ian, but what we mean is for goodness’ sake don’t 
stick on all the airs and graces that some of these 
foreign girls do. Remember we're plain, wholesome, 
straightforward Anglo-Saxons, who play games and 
say what we mean, and call a spade a spade and 
have done with it. Whatever Italian friends you 
may make during the holidays please forget them 
during term-time, and try and imagine that the Villa 
Camellia stands in Kent or Massachusetts. Do you 
understand my drift now?” 

“Oh, yes!” sighed Mabel languidly. “Anglo- 
American patriotism, crystallized in a nutshell, I 


/ 


Hail, Columbia! 31 

suppose! Vm not going to offend your prejudices, 
I’m sure!” 

“You’d better not, or you’ll hear about it,” said 
Rachel, looking at her sharply. “Well, girls, that’s 
the wind-up. The three freshies are admitted and 
you’ve witnessed their vows. Just jolly well take 
care they keep them, that’s all. Juniors are due now 
at netball practice, and any seniors who want the 
tennis courts-” 

But Rachel’s sentence went unfinished for her lis¬ 
teners were tired of sitting still, and the second 
they found themselves dismissed had jumped up and 
fled from the room. 

“Now that that ordeal’s over I guess you may 
smooth out the kinks in your forehead, honey!” said 
a serene voice at Irene’s elbow. 

Turning quickly she saw the short girl who had 
braved Rachel’s possible wrath and had offered her 
coffee on her arrival. It was a pleasant face that 
gazed into hers, not exactly beautiful, but with a 
charm that eclipsed all mere ordinary prettiness; the 
sparkling gray eyes were dark-fringed, the cheeks 
were like wild roses under their freckles, the tip-tilted 
little nose held an element of audacious sauciness, 
and dimples lay at the corners of the wide, smiling 
mouth. 

“I’m Priscilla Proctor, called Peachy for short. 
Oh, yes, I knew all about you beforehand, although 
you happen to be the newest girl. Dad wrote me a 
whole page—wonderful for him !—and said he’d 



32 The Jolliest School of All 

stayed at your house in London, and I was to tack 
myself on to you and show you round, and see you 
didn’t fret and all the rest of it. Are you wanting 
a crony, temporary or otherwise? Then here I am 
at your service. Link an arm and we’ll parade the 
place. I guess by the time we’ve finished there’s 
not much you won’t know about the Villa Camellia.” 

“Have you been here long?” asked Irene, accept¬ 
ing the proffered arm with alacrity, and submitting to 
be led away by her cicerone. 

“Just a year. Cried myself to a puddle when I 
first came, but I like it now. I didn’t realize who 
you were when you first arrived, or I’d have given 
you a tip or two straight away. Thank goodness 
you’re fairly in favor with Rachel at any rate. Any 
one who starts by offending her has a bad term. 
I don’t envy Mabel Hughes. That girl will get a 
few eye-openers before she’s much older, and serve 
her right. She rooms with you? Well, I’m sorry 
for you. I wish there was a spare bed in our dormi¬ 
tory, but we’re full up to overflowing. Now then, 
I’ve brought you out by the side door to show you 
what we consider the best view of the garden. Ah, 
I thought it would make your eyes pop out! It’s 
some view, isn’t it?” 

The garden of the Villa Camellia was certainly 
one of the greatest assets of the school, and to Irene, 
who had been transported straight from the deso¬ 
lation of a London suburb in January, it seemed like 
a vision of a different world. The long terrace, 


33 


Hail, Columbia! 

with its marble balustrade, edged a high cliff that 
overtopped the sea, while at present the setting sun 
was lighting up the white houses of the distant out¬ 
line of Naples, and was touching the purple slopes 
of Vesuvius with gold. Pillars and archways formed 
a pergola, from which hung roses and festoons of 
the trumpetflower; from the groves near at hand 
came the sweet strong scent of orange blossoms, 
and the little favorites of an English spring, forget- 
me-nots, pink daisies, and pansies, lifted contented 
heads from the border below. In the basin of the 
great marble fountain white arum lilies were bloom¬ 
ing, geraniums trailed from tall vases, and palms, 
bamboos, and other exotics backed the row of lemon 
trees at the end of the paved walk. Here and 
there marble benches were arranged round tables in 
specially constructed arbors. 

“These are our summer classrooms,” explained 
Peachy. “When it’s blazingly hot we do lessons 
here early in the mornings, and it’s ripping. No, 
we don’t use them at this time of the year, because 
the marble is cold to sit upon, and the garden is damp 
really, although it looks so jolly. You should see it 
in a sirocco wind! You wouldn’t want to have 
classes outside then, you bet! It’s luck you’re in the 
Transition form. If you’d been one of Miss Rod¬ 
ger’s elect eleven, or one of Miss Brewster’s lambs, 
I’d have had to chum with you by stealth. I’d have 
managed it somehow, of course, to please Dad, but 
it isn’t done here openly. School etiquette is like 


34 The Jolliest School of All 

the law of the Medes and Persians. We keep to 
our own' forms. Hello! There’s Sheila Yonge. 
Sheila! If you can find any Camellia Buds that 
aren’t playing tennis bring them along right here 
for a little powwow with Irene.” 

“Is she a ‘buddy’ yet?” whispered Sheila. 

“Of course not! She’s only been here a few hours. 
What a dear old silly you are. Hunt up some of 
that crew all the same, and I’m yours forever. 
Don’t you understand the situation? Well, Irene’s 
folks entertained Dad in London and were just 
lovely to him—nursed him when he was sick and 
took him round the shows when he got well. He’s 
been bursting with gratitude ever since, and he wrote 
and told me Irene was coming here and I must pay 
her out—no, pay her back—pour coals of fire on her 
head—Great Scott, I’m getting my similes mixed I 
I mean give her a right down good time as far as 
I can, and make her think the Villa Camellia is a 
dandy place. Twiggez-vous, cherie?” 

“I twig!” laughed Sheila. “I’ll beat up all I can 
muster,” and she ran lightly away along the terrace. 

“A decent girl, though a little hard of comprehen¬ 
sion,” Peachy nodded after her. “Doesn’t she look 
adorable in that blue tam-o’-shanter?” 

“She’s awfully pretty!” agreed Irene readily. 

“She’d be the beauty of the school if she’d any 
idea how to use her advantages,” sighed Peachy. 
“Give me her complexion and that classical nose 
and—well, I guess I’d blaze out into a cinema star 


35 


Hail, Columbia! 

before I’d done with life. I hope she won’t be all 
day raking a few girls together. She’s not what 
you’d call quick. I’ve misjudged her. Here she 
comes with half a dozen at least—and, oh, no, 
Sheila! You don’t mean to say you’ve brought 
candy? Well, you are a sport! Let’s squat under 
the mimosa tree and hand it round.” 

The little group of Peachy’s favorite friends who 
settled themselves under the yellow mimosa bush to 
suck taffy and watch the flaming sunset were all 
afterwards intimately bound up with Irene’s school 
career. Each was such a distinct personality that 
she sorted them out fairly accurately on that first 
evening, and decided the particular order in which 
they would rank in her affections. 

There was Jess Cameron, a jolly Scottish lassie. 
She rolled her r’s when she spoke, and was a trifle 
matter-of-fact and practical, but was evidently the 
dependable anchor of the rest of the scatter-brained 
crew, the one who made the most sensible sugges¬ 
tions, and to whom—though they teased her a little 
and called her “Grannie”—they all turned in the 
end for help and advice. Jess was slightly out of 
her element in a southern setting. Her appropriate 
background was moorland and heather and gray 
loch, and driving clouds and a breeze with fine mist 
in it, that would make you want to wrap a plaid 
round your shoulders and turn to the luxury of a peat 
fire. Quite unconsciously she suggested all these 
things. Peachy once described her as a living in- 


36 The Jolliest School of All 

carnation of one of Scott’s novels, for she was 
steeped in old traditions and legends and supersti¬ 
tions, and could tell tales in the gloaming that sent 
eerie shivers down the spines of her listeners, or 
would recite ballads with a swing that took one 
back to the days of wandering minstrels. She was 
not a girl to make a fuss over anybody, and she 
did not greet Irene with the least effusion, but her 
plain “If you’re a friend of Peachy’s I'm glad to 
see you,” was genuine, and better than any amount 
of gush. Jess undoubtedly had her faults; she was 
what her chums called “too cock-sure,” and she was 
apt to be severe in her judgments, flashing into the 
righteous wrath of one whose standards are high, 
but her very imperfections were “virtues gane 
a-gley,” and she was a considerable force in the 
molding of public opinion at the Villa Camellia. 

If Jess, calm, canny, and reliable, stood for the 
spirit of the North, attractive, persuasive, fascinat¬ 
ing little Delia Watts represented the South. She 
came from California, and was as quick and bright 
as a humming-bird, constantly in harmless mischief, 
but seldom getting into any serious trouble. Her 
highly strung temperament found school restrictions 
irksome, and she was apt to blaze out into odd pranks 
which in other girls might have met with sterner 
punishment. But Miss Morley had a soft corner 
for Delia, and, though she did not exactly favor her, 
she certainly made allowances for her excitability 
and her strongly emotional disposition. 


37 


Hail, Columbia! 

“Delia’s like a marionette—always dancing to 
some hidden string,” the teacher remarked once to 
Miss Rodgers. “She mayn’t be strong-minded but 
she’s immensely warm-hearted, and if we can only 
pull the love-string she’ll act the part we want. You 
can’t force her into prim behavior; she’s as much 
a child of nature as the birds, and if you clip her 
wings altogether you take away from her the very 
gift that perhaps God meant her to use. Let me 
have the handling of the little sky-rocket, and I’ll 
do my best to keep her within bounds, but she’s not 
the disposition to ‘be made an example of’ or to 
be set on the ‘stool of repentance.’ Five minutes 
with Delia in private is worth more than a long pub¬ 
lic admonition. You’ve only to look at her face to 
know her type.” 

And Miss Rodgers, who stood no nonsense from 
really naughty and turbulent girls, yielded in this 
case, and left the exclusive management of Delia 
in the hands of her partner. 

Of the seven damsels who sat under the yellow* 
feathery flowers of the mimosa bush, three of them 
—Peachy, Jess, and Delia—talked so hard and con¬ 
tinuously that none of the others had a chance to 
chip in with anything more than an occasional yes or 
no. Irene realized in a vague way that Esther Cart- 
mel was plain and stodgy looking, but that every 
now and then a world of light suddenly flashed into 
her eyes, and transfigured her for the brief moment; 
that Sheila Yonge giggled at all Peachy’s remarks, 


38 The Jolliest School of All 

and that Mary Fergusson was a pale and weak copy 
of Jess, and slavishly followed her lead in every¬ 
thing. It was the seventh member of the little party, 
however, who particularly attracted her attention. 
Lorna Carson was quiet, probably from sheer lack 
of opportunity to speak, but her pale face was in¬ 
teresting and her dark eyes met Irene’s with a curi¬ 
ous questioning glance. It was almost as if she 
were asking “Hav$ we known each other before?” 
Irene could not help looking at her, and ransacking 
the side cupboards of her memory to try to light 
upon some forgotten clew as to why the face should 
seem half familiar. 

“Have I seen her in London? Or is she like 
some one else? No, I can’t fix her at all. Surely 
I must have dreamed about her,” mused Irene, 
while aloud she said, almost as if compelled to 
speak: 

“Have you been long at school here? Are you 
English, or American, or colonial, or what?” 

“A little bit of anything you like,” smiled Lorna. 
“Rachel gets very muddled about me. I’ve such a 
sneaking weakness for Naples that I believe she 
thinks I’m an Italian at heart. That’s a crime 
Rachel absolutely can’t forgive. ‘Foreign’ is the 
last word in her vocabulary.’’ 

“So I gathered when she made me take that oath. 
I suppose she’s head girl and that’s why she rules 
the roost? Is she decent or does she keep you 
petrified? I don’t know whether I’m expected to 


Hail, Columbia! 39 

say ‘Bow-wow,’ or to listen in respectful humility 
when she deigns to notice me.” 

“You’d better not have any ‘bow-wows’ with 
Rachel,” broke in Peachy, “though you just jolly well 
have to wag your tail the way she wants. She’s not 
bad on the whole, but rather a tyrant, and it would 
do her all the good in the world if some day some¬ 
body had the courage to knock sparks out of her. 
We do what we can in a mild way,” (here the 
other chuckled) “but she’s got the ears of both 
Miss Rodgers and Miss Morley, and if you go on 
the rampage against her you only land yourself in a 
scrape. Of course, for purposes of protection the 
Transition girls have to unite and-” 

“Peachy! Take care!” exclaimed Jess warningly. 

Peachy blushed crimson under her freckles. 

“I wasn’t telling anything!” she retorted. “I sup¬ 
pose Irene——” 

“Do shut up!” 

“Well Agnes said herself-” 

“It doesn’t matter what Agnes said.” 

“She’s fixed——” 

“Peachy Proctor, if you blab like this you’ll be 
tarred and feathered. Girl alive, can’t you keep a still 
tongue in your head? If you’d lived in the Middle 
Ages you’d have ended your days in a dungeon!” 

Jess spoke hotly, and, by the general scandalized 
look on the faces of the others, Irene judged that 
luckless Peachy must have been on the verge of be¬ 
traying some secret. She tactfully turned the conver- 






40 The Jolliest School of All 

sation with a remark upon the beauty of the sunset, 
and the clanging of the garden bell opportunely 
broke up the gathering, and sent the girls hurrying 
helter-skelter along the terrace in the direction of 
the house. Irene paused for a moment to look back 
at the sea and the sky, and the distant twinkling 
lights, and to curtsy to the crescent moon that hung 
like a good omen in the dome of blue. There was 
a scent of fragrant lemon blossoms in the air, and 
she trod fallen rose petals under her feet. Suddenly 
a remembrance of the desolation of Miss Gordon’s 
garden in a February fog swept across her mental 
vision. Whatever trials she might encounter here 
—and she did not expect her new life to be absolute 
Paradise—the environment of this school in the 
south was perfect and would make up for many 
disadvantages. 

“Give me sunshine and flowers and I’ll always 
worry on somehow,” she murmured, plucking a little 
crimson rose, and tucking it into her dress for a 
mascot, then ran with flying footsteps under the 
orange trees to catch up with her companions, who 
were already mounting the marble steps that led to 
the Villa Camellia. 


CHAPTER IV 


A Secret Sorority 

The dormitories at the Villa Camellia were 
among the main features of the establishment, and 
were a source of considerable pride and satisfac¬ 
tion to the principals, Miss Rodgers and Miss Mor- 
ley. They were always shown to parents as the 
very latest and newest development of school ar¬ 
rangements. Some of them were on the second 
story and some were on the third, but all had French 
windows opening onto long verandas on which were 
placed large pots of geraniums or oleanders. The 
walls were covered with striped Italian papers, the 
frieze being color-washed and decorated with designs 
of flowers or birds, the woodwork was white, the 
beds were enameled white, and the blankets, instead 
of being cream or yellow as they are in England, 
were all of a uniform shade of pale blue, with blue 
eider-downs to match. The whole of the house was 
heated by radiators, so that the dormitories were 
always warm, and were used as studies by the older 
girls, who did most of their preparation there. A 
table with ink-pots stood in the middle of each room, 
and a large notice enjoining, “Silence during study 

hours” hung as a warning over every fireplace. 

41 


42 The Jolliest School of All 

Irene was given a vacant bed in No. 3 on the 
second floor, and found herself in company with 
Elsie Craig, Mabel Hughes, and Lorna Carson. 
For the first two she felt no attraction, but the last 
excited her interest and curiosity. There was an 
air of mystery about Lorna; she asked questions 
but gave little information in return on the sub¬ 
ject of her own concerns. Her bright dark eyes were 
unfathomable, and she “kept herself to herself” with 
a reserved dignity not very common among school¬ 
girls of her age. Irene, who loved to chatter, found 
Lorna a ready listener, and, although the confidence 
was not reciprocated and in consequence the friend¬ 
ship seemed likely to be rather one-sided, it was 
a friendship all the same from the very start. At 
the end of the week, moreover, something important 
happened to cement it. 

For the first seven days of her residence at the 
Villa Camellia Irene had felt herself “goods on ap¬ 
proval.” Peachy Proctor and her chums had indeed 
given her a welcome, but afterwards they had held 
back a little as if testing her before offering fur¬ 
ther intimacy. There seemed to be some secret 
bond amongst them, some alliance carefully hidden 
from the general public. She caught nods, signs, 
mysterious words, and veiled allusions, all of which 
were instantly suppressed when her presence was 
noticed. On the eighth day after arrival she found 
a note inside her desk. It was marked—* 


43 


A Secret Sorority 

PRIVATE 

This must be opened in absolute seclusion 

and 

its contents must be treated with the 
Strictest Confidence 

A crowded classroom, with inquisitive form-mates 
ready to peep over her shoulder, did not seem the 
congenial atmosphere for the opening of the missive, 
so Irene was obliged to curb her curiosity until mid¬ 
morning “interval,” when she gulped her glass of 
milk hastily, took her portion of biscuits, and, avoid¬ 
ing conversation, hurried down the garden to the 
seclusion of a stone arbor. Here she tore open 
the envelope, and drew forth a large sheet of exer¬ 
cise paper. On it was printed in bold black letters: 

“You are elected a member of the Sorority of 
Camellia Buds. Please present yourself for initia¬ 
tion to-night at 8.10 prompt in No. 13. Strictest 
secrecy enjoined.” 

There was no signature, but Irene gave a smile 
of comprehension. Dormitory No. 13 was shared 
by Peachy Proctor, Jess Cameron, Delia Watts, and 
Mary Fergusson. There was, therefore, little doubt 
but that she was to be received into the secret society 
of whose existence she had already gathered some 
hints. 


44 The Jolliest School of All 

“I’ll be there at 8.10,’’ she whispered to Peachy, 
as they trooped into the French class. 

“Right-o!” replied that light-hearted damsel. 
“Just one warning—don’t be scared at anything that 
happens; it’s all in fun! Don’t say I told you, 
though. No, I can’t explain. I’m not allowed. 
You’ll soon find out.” 

Peachy shook off Irene’s company as if in a hurry 
to get rid of her before she asked any more ques¬ 
tions, so there was nothing to be done but wait in 
patience until the evening. Supper was at 7.30, 
and from 8 till half past the girls did as they chose. 
Those who wished to study might take the extra 
time for preparation, but work was not obligatory, 
and it was an understood thing that in the interval 
between supper and “set recreation” visits might be 
paid to other dormitories, and that so long as no 
noise reached the ears of the prefects, anybody dis¬ 
posed to be frivolous might indulge in a little harm¬ 
less fun. 

Irene’s wrist-watch was not a reliable timepiece, 
having bad habits of galloping and then suddenly los¬ 
ing, so to-night she did not trust to it, but sat in the 
hall with her eyes on the big white-faced clock. At 
exactly nine and a half minutes past eight she ran 
upstairs and tapped at the door of dormitory 13. 
There were sounds of scuffling inside and an agitated 
voice squealed: 

“Wait a minute.” 


A Secret Sorority 45 

But after a few moments quiet reigned and some- 
body else called: 

“Come in!” 

Feeling rather as if she were awaiting initiation 
into some Nihilist association Irene entered the 
room. As she did so a bandage was clapped over her 
eyes and she was led forward blindfolded. It was 
only after an impressive pause that the handkerchief 
was removed. 

It was well she had been warned beforehand, or 
the sight which met her gaze might have caused her 
to emit a yell loud enough to attract the attention 
of a passing prefect. The Villa Camellia was ad¬ 
mirably supplied with electric light, but on this his¬ 
toric occasion the apartment was illuminated solely 
by a couple of candle-ends stuck in a pair of vases. 
Their flickering flame revealed a solemn row of 
nine dressing-gowned figures, each of which wore a 
black paper mask with holes for her eyes. The 
general effect was most startling and horrible, and 
resembled a meeting of the Inquisition, or some 
other society bent on torture and dark doings. Re¬ 
pressing her first gasp, however, Irene bore the 
vision with remarkable equanimity, and advancing 
towards the dread figures waited obediently until she 
was addressed. Evidently she had done the right 
thing, for the spokeswoman, clearing her throat, 
began in impressive accents: 

“Sister Irene Beverley, you are admitted here 


46 The Jolliest School of All 

to-night to be made a member of our Sorority. Are 
you willing to join and to take the pledges?” 

“Yes, thanks, but please what’s a sorority?” ven¬ 
tured Irene meekly. 

Two or three distinct snickers were heard from 
underneath the black masks, but a voice murmured, 
“Order!” and the sounds promptly ceased. 

“A sorority is a secret sisterhood,” explained the 
President, “just the same as a fraternity is a broth¬ 
erhood. We call ourselves ‘The Camellia Buds,’ 
and we’re members of the Transition who have 
banded ourselves together for the purposes of mu¬ 
tual protection. It’s a great honor to be elected. 
There are only nine of us so far, and we’ve waited 
ever so long to choose a tenth. I hope you appre¬ 
ciate the privilege?” 

“I do indeed!” 

“You’re ready to take the vow? Then the ini¬ 
tiation may proceed. Sword-bearers, guard the 
door, please.” 

There was a Masonic quality about the proceed¬ 
ings. Two dark figures, armed with rulers, placed 
themselves at the threshold, prepared to settle all in¬ 
truders, and to preserve the absolute secrecy of the 
ceremony. 

“Will you give your word of honor to be a loyal 
member of the Sorority of Camellia Buds, and never 
to do a dirty trick so long as you remain at this 
school?” asked the President. 

“I promise!” replied Irene. 



“IRENE WAITED OBEDIENTLY UNTIL SHE WAS 

ADDRESSED” 


Page 45 







47 


A Secret Sorority 

At that somebody switched on the electric light, 
and the members, pulling off their black masks, dis¬ 
closed their laughing faces. 

“You stood it A-i. I was quite prepared for 
you to start hysterics and had the sal volatile bottle 
ready right here,” chirruped Delia gayly. 

“We call it our ‘strength of mind’ test,” explained 
President Agnes, blowing out the guttering candles. 

“If I had screamed what would have happened?” 
inquired Irene. 

“Probation for another week till you got your 
nerves. We’d a business with Sheila just at first; 
she’s rather fluttersome. Well, anyway, you’ve got 
through the ordeal, and now you’re a full-fledged 
‘bud.’ Aren’t you proud?” 

“Rather! Is the society limited to ten?” 

“Sorority, please, not society. It’s limited because 
there isn’t anybody else in the Transition who’s 
worth asking to join. Most of them are a set of 
utter sneaks. They may take Rachel’s oath about 
preserving their nationality and all the rest of it, 
but if they’re to be counted specimens of Anglo- 
American honor it makes one blush for one’s mother 
country whichever side of the ocean it happens to 
be on. Oh, you don’t know most of them yet! 
Wait till you find them out.” 

“You’ll be glad then you belong to us.” 

“Not that we’re perfect, of course.” 

“We don’t set up as Pharisees.” 

“On the whole we’re rather a lot of lunatics.” 


48 The Jolliest School of All 

“We just have a little sport among ourselves to 
keep things humming.” 

“Well, now Irene understands, we’d best get her 
fixed up with a ‘buddy’ and close the meeting.” 

“But I don’t understand. What, for goodness’ 
sake, is a buddy, and why must I have one?” de¬ 
manded Irene tragically. 

“Sit down there, child, and let Grannie talk to 
you,” replied President Agnes. “If you haven’t 
heard of a buddy yet it’s time you did. They’re 
the latest out. They had them at all the camps last 
summer, in England as well as in America. A buddy 
is a chum with whom you’re pledged to do every¬ 
thing, and who’s bound to support you. For in¬ 
stance, when the bathing season is on you must never 
swim unless your buddy is swimming with you; if 
you go on an excursion you stick to« each other tight 
as glue, and if one of you is lost the other is held re¬ 
sponsible. You’re as inseparable as a box and its 
lid, or the two blades of a pair of scissors, or a 
bottle and its cork, or any other things you happen 
to think of that ought to go together, and aren’t any 
use apart.” 

“We only realized buddies last term,” explained 
Peachy, “but the idea caught on no end. We all 
went simply crazy over it. I don’t mind guessing 
that every girl in this school who’s worth her salt 
has got her buddy. She mayn’t let it be known out¬ 
side her own sorority, but we aren’t blind.” 


A Secret Sorority 49 

“Are there other sororities in the school then 
besides the Camellia Buds?” asked Irene. 

“Bless your innocence! I should think there are. 
There’s a rival one in the Transition. I rather fancy 
they’ve snapped up Mabel already. I gave Winnie 
a hint she wasn’t to tackle you, because you’d come 
to school with an introduction to me, so I ought to 
have first innings. The prefects have a sorority all 
to themselves, and the seniors have one, and as for 
the juniors, silly little things, they’re as transparent 
as glass, with their signaling and their grips and 
their cypher letters. Any one can see through them 
with half an eye. But we’re wasting time. We’ve 
got to fix you up with a buddy, and we must be 
quick before the bell rings.” 

“May we choose?” asked Irene, and her eyes fell 
longingly on Peachy. 

“No, we mayn’t!” said President Agnes firmly. 
“We have to take what the fates send us. It’s Kis¬ 
met. Every time we elect a new member we draw 
lots again for buddies. It’s a kind of general shuffle. 
If we’re an uneven number somebody of course has to 
be odd man out.” 

“I was the ‘old maid’ last draw, and I Haven’t 
had a buddy this term,” remarked Sheila plaintively. 

“Never mind, ducky! You’re bound to find a 
partner now,” consoled Delia. “It might even be 
my little self, so live in hope.” 

“No such luck,” groaned Sheila. “I’ll probably 


50 The Jolliest School of All 

get Joan, and you know she always uses me as a 
door-mat.” 

Agnes meantime was writing ten names on ten 
separate pieces of paper and folding them in identi¬ 
cally the same fashion. Peachy offered the loan of 
a hat, and into this treasury they were cast and shuf¬ 
fled. 

“The newest member draws,” murmured Agnes, 
and the others pushed Irene forward. She chose 
two folds of paper at a venture, and twisted them 
together, then performed the like service for another 
pair, until all the ten were assorted. The thrill 
of the ceremony was when Agnes opened the screws 
of paper and read out the names. Fate had mixed 
the Camellia Buds together thus: 

Peachy Proctor—Sheila Yonge. 

Jess Cameron—Delia Watts. 

Joan Lucas—Esther Cartmel. 

Agnes Dalton—Mary Fergusson. 

Lorna Carson—Irene Beverley. 

Whether the members of the secret sorority felt 
satisfied or otherwise with the result of the shuffle, 
etiquette forbade them to show anything but polite 
enthusiasm. Each took her buddy solemnly by the 
hand and vowed allegiance. Peachy then produced 
what she called “the loving cup,” a three-handled 
vase of brown pottery brought by Jess from Edin¬ 
burgh and with the motto “Mak’ yerseP at hame,” 


51 


A Secret Sorority 

on it in cream-colored letters. It was usually a re¬ 
ceptacle for flowers, but it had been hastily washed 
for the occasion and filled with lemonade, a rather 
bitter brew concocted by Peachy and Delia from a 
half-ripe lemon plucked in the garden and a few 
lumps of sugar saved from tea. This was passed 
round, and the Camellia Buds gulped it heroically as 
a pledge of sisterhood. 

“The password is Thistle-down,” decreed Agnes, 
as the members, trying not to pull sour faces, con¬ 
soled themselves with candy and broke up the meet¬ 
ing. “Any one who can think of a stunt for next 
time please bring along propositions. We’re always 
open to new ideas and ready for a startler.” 

As a direct result of her admission to this select 
sorority Irene found herself flung by Fate into the 
arms of Lorna Carson. Had any individual choice 
been allowed she would have selected Peachy, Jess, 
Delia, or even Sheila in preference, but the lot once 
cast she must abide by it and be content. She had 
a very shrewd suspicion that when the buddies got 
tired of each other they elected a fresh member and 
so necessitated a general reshuffle of partners, and 
that her admission to the society had been welcomed 
as the pretext for such a change. Here she was, 
however, pledged to intimate friendship with Lorna, 
a girl who half fascinated and half repelled her, 
and who, though she might possibly turn out trumps 
in the future, was for the present at least most diffi¬ 
cult to understand. 


CHAPTER V 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited 

Irene Beverley, when she first left the shores of 
her native land, was a particularly light-hearted, 
jolly little Britisher, not at all bookish, and not ac¬ 
customed to worry her head over any of the deep 
affairs of life, but ready to have a royal time with 
anybody of similar tastes and inclinations. In her 
first letter home she summed up the results of a 
week’s experience. 


“The Villa Camellia. 


“Mummie Darling, 

“This is to tell you I am still alive! I’m a little sur¬ 
prised, because I thought math would kill me. Miss Bick¬ 
ford is most horribly conscientious and insists upon finding 
out whether I really understand or not, and it is generally 
‘not.’ I suppose I was born with a thick head for figures, 
anyway, she seems amazed at my ignorance. I lay the 
blame on St. Osmund’s. Is that mean of me? It’s my only 
way of paying out Miss Gordon for past scores. 

“I don’t mind admitting I have warm times in school over 
some of the classes, but the rest of the life is lovely. Miss 
Bickford is often a big thorn, but Peachy is a rose. As for 

52 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited S 3 

Lorna she’s like one of those tropical flowers that Uncle 
Redvers grows in his conservatory. How does Vin like being 
at the office? Are you straight yet at the flat? Come and 
see me as soon as ever you can, because I’m a little bit lone¬ 
some and wanting my home folks, though I wouldn’t confess 
it to any of these girls for the world. 

“Heaps of love to Dad and Vin and your dear self. 

“From 


“Renie.” 

If Irene, who had found her niche in a congenial 
set at the Villa Camellia, was capable of feeling the 
pangs of homesickness, that unpleasant malady ex¬ 
hibited itself with far more serious symptoms in the 
case of another new girl who had entered the school 
upon the same day. Desiree Legrand could not 
settle down among the juniors. She was used to the 
society of grown-up people, and did not take kindly 
to young companions. In the excitement of her 
own affairs Irene had hardly given the child a 
thought since her arrival, but one afternoon, when 
enjoying a solitary ramble round the garden, she 
suddenly came face to face with Little Flaxen. She 
was shocked at the change in her; the once pink 
cheeks were white and pasty, and her eyelids were 
red and swollen as if with perpetual crying. 

“Hello! Whatever have you been doing to your¬ 
self ?” exclaimed Irene. “You look rather a bunch 
of misery, don’t you? What’s the matter?” 


54 The Jolliest School of All 

Desiree, squatting forlornly on the steps that led 
to the upper tennis courts, produced a lace-bordered 
pocket-handkerchief and mopped her eyes. 

‘‘Nobody loves me here!” she blurted out dra¬ 
matically. “I’m just wr-r-r-etched! They all laugh 
and call me Frenchie! I’m not French, and I 
w-w-ant to be 1-1-oved!” 

Irene looked at her and shook her head. 

“That’s not the way to go about it I’m afraid. 
I’m sorry, but you know you’ll just invite teasing if 
you carry on like this. Can’t you brace up and be 
sporty? Pretend you don’t mind anything they say 
and they’ll soon stop.” 

“But I do mind!” sobbed the tragic little figure 
on the steps. “I mind d-d-dreadfully! Why are 
they all so horrid to me? People have always been 
so nice till I came here!” 

“That’s exactly the reason,” said Irene, grasping 
the situation and explaining it truthfully. “You’ve 
been accustomed to be petted by everybody, and 
after all why should the other girls in your form pet 
you? You don’t pet them, do you?” 

“N-n-o!” 

Desiree’s eyes were round with amazement. 

“Well, can’t you see school’s a matter of give and 
take? If you do something for the rest they’ll pos¬ 
sibly like you, but they won’t fall on your neck just 
out of sheer good nature. Why don’t you write 
home for a box of chocolates and offer them round 
your form?” 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited 55 

“I never thought of it. I had some chocolates— 
but—I ate them!” 

“There you are! You expected to get all the at¬ 
tention and give nothing. Sorry if I seem brutal, but 
it’s the solid truth. You take my advice and cheer 
up instead of continually sniveling. I’ve been at 
school myself since I was seven, and I know a thing 
or two. If a girl’s popular there’s generally some 
reason behind it. Look here, I’ll help you if I can. 
Those kids over there are doing nothing. I’ll get 
them to come and play rounders, choose you for 
a partner, and I’ll back our side to win. Here’s 
Peachy! Perhaps she’ll join in too. I’ll ask her.” 

Irene rapidly explained her philanthropic inten¬ 
tions, and enlisted both Peachy and Delia in her 
team. The juniors, amazed and flattered at an invi¬ 
tation from older girls, were ready enough for a 
game. Irene insisted upon the innovation of what 
she called “hunting in couples,” that is to say, divid¬ 
ing the company into partners who made the course 
hand in hand. She took good care to choose De¬ 
siree for her “running-mate,” and as they were both 
fleet of foot they scored considerably. By the time 
the bell rang they had beaten the records. 

“Look here!” said Irene, addressing the juniors 
before they scooted away, “you kids are missing a 
chance. Why don’t you make Desiree train for the 
sports ? She can run like a hare! With the start she’d 
get as a junior she might win you a trophy. Hadn’t 
it ever entered your silly young noddles to see what 


56 The Jolliest School of All 

she could do for your form? Well, you are a set of 
slackers! That’s my opinion of you. We manage 
our affairs better in the Transition.” 

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” gasped Little 
Flaxen, lingering a moment or two behind the others. 
“You’ve been just great! I’ll write to Dad to-night 
to send me some chocs, and I won’t eat a single one 
myself. They shall have them all. They shall 
really!” 

With scarlet cheeks and shining eyes she was a 
different child from the weeping Niobe who had sat 
and sobbed on the steps. 

“Now if I’d simply coddled her and sympathized 
she’d have cried a few gallons more and have been 
no better off,” mused Irene, as her protegee danced 
away. “I fancy those juniors have been fairly nasty 
to her, though I wouldn’t tell her so. Something 
ought to be done about it, but the question is ‘what?’ 
I want to have a talk with Peachy when I can wedge 
in ten minutes of spare time.” 

All evening remembrance of Little Flaxen’s 
red eyes and white cheeks haunted Irene. She felt it 
ought not to have been possible for the child to be 
so lonely and neglected. Granted that her unpop¬ 
ularity might be partly her own fault, boycotting 
was nevertheless hard to bear. It was clearly some¬ 
body’s business to have looked after her, and that 
duty ought not to have devolved upon a newcomer 
like herself, who only realized the necessity by the 
merest chance. 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited 57 

“What’s the use of the prefects?’’ Irene asked her¬ 
self, but she gave up the answer, and appealed to 
Peachy at breakfast-time instead. 

That cheery young American took the matter 
more seriously than Irene expected. There was a 
very kind little heart hidden under her bubbles of 
fun. 

“I’ll call a meeting of the Camellia Buds right 
now,” she declared. “I guess we don’t want any of 
those poor babes crying their eyes out. Talk of 
homesickness! You should have seen me my first 
week here. I brought four dozen pocket-handker¬ 
chiefs to school with me and I used them all. It’s 
not good enough! Prefects, did you say? Humph! 
I don’t call Rachel exactly laid out for this job. 
Bring your biscuits to the ‘Grotto’ at interval, and 
we’ll have a powwow about it.” 

There was a twenty-minute mid-morning break 
between classes, during which the girls ate lunch 
and amused themselves as they pleased in the house 
or grounds. The biscuits, three apiece, were laid 
out in rows on the dining-room table together with 
each pupil’s glass of milk. As Irene ran in to take 
her portion she heard a scrimmage going on at the 
other end of the room. Several small girls were 
quarreling loudly, and above the noise came De¬ 
siree’s piping, high-pitched voice: 

“I haven’t had a biscuit for days and it isn’t fair.” 

“What’s all this about?” asked Irene, striding into 
the crowd just in time to see Mabel and another 


58 The Jolliest School of All 

member of the Transition pass, laughing, through 
the lower door. 

There was a babel in reply. 

“Those big girls come and grab our biscuits!” 

“It’s a shame of them!” 

“There ought to be three apiece!” 

“And there never are!” 

“It’s something if you get two!” 

“Nancy’s taken both mine!” 

“Honest injun, I haven’t!” 

“I tell you I’m famished!” 

“Help! Don’t all shout at once,” decreed Irene. 
“Let’s have a biscuit parade. Each hold out what 
she’s got. Here, Audley, hand one of yours over to 
Francie. Effie, break that one in half and share 
with Chris. Desiree, you may have mine this morn¬ 
ing, but this business mustn’t happen again. I’ve no 
time to stop now, but I’ll inquire into this, you bet!” 

Leaving an only partially satisfied group of small 
girls behind her Irene sped to her tryst in the garden. 
She took a short cut, and ran through the orange 
grove, where the half-ripe oranges were beginning to 
turn yellow on the trees, then shamelessly jumping 
over a flower border of stocks and primulas, crossed 
under the rose-pergola, turned down a creeper-cov¬ 
ered side alley, and found herself in a neglected 
portion of the grounds. Here there was a very di¬ 
lapidated little arbor, built sixty or seventy years ago 
when the Villa Camellia had been owned by an 
Italian count with a weakness for the fine arts. The 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited 59 

roof leaked, and a riot of jessamine almost hid the 
door; the window-sill had fallen, and the floor was a 
mass of dead leaves. The plastered walls were 
painted with frescoes—faded and moldy now—of 
a country chateau with cypress trees, and three ladies 
in big plumed hats riding on white horses, and a 
gentleman in shooting costume and tall boots, who 
wore side whiskers, and carried a gun, and had four 
hunting dogs standing in a row behind him. All 
these were rather stiff and badly painted, yet gave 
an air of neglected grandeur to the grotto. There 
were marble seats, and a rickety marble table, and 
a little broken statue of Cupid in the corner, and the 
floor under the rubbish was of blue glazed tiles, so 
that the building, though fallen on evil days, still 
showed some remnants of its former glory. As it 
was in an out-of-the-way spot and far from the tennis 
courts, it was not often visited, and had therefore 
been appropriated by the Camellia Buds as a suitable 
place for the secret meetings of their sorority. 

The nine were all assembled here waiting im¬ 
patiently for Irene. She brushed through the jessa¬ 
mine-covered doorway, took her seat, and breath¬ 
lessly explained the reason of her delay. 

“Would you have believed such meanness?” she 
ended. 

Peachy nodded solemnly. 

“I told you some of our precious Transition would 
make you blush. Was it Bertha? I thought so! 1 
knew she had got hold of Mabel. I believe they’re 


60 The Jolliest School of All 

buddies, and a charming pair they’ll be! We shall 
have to tackle them somehow. This certainly can’t 
be allowed to go on.” 

“Isn’t it a case for the prefects?” asked Irene, 
addressing the President. 

Agnes’s forehead was drawn into a series of 
puckers. 

“We hate telling,” she sighed. “The fact is the 
prefects in this school aren’t quite what they ought to 
be. They think they do their duty, but they’re too 
aloof and high-handed and bossing, and the conse¬ 
quence is they’re not popular, and the girls would as 
soon complain to a teacher as to Rachel or Sybil or 
Erica. It simply isn’t done. Yet those kids need a 
champion. There are several abuses among them 
that I’ve noticed myself.” 

“Guess we’ve got to take it on then and ‘champ,’ ” 
murmured Delia. 

“Poor little souls, it’s a shame to steal their 
‘bikkies’; we’ll have to stand over them and act fairy 
godmothers,” said Sheila. 

Peachy bounced suddenly in her seat. 

“Sheila Yonge, you’ve given me an idea—yes, an 
absolute brain-throb. What the Camellia Buds 
ought to do is to turn the sorority into an Amalga¬ 
mated Society of Fairy Godmothers, and each of us 
take over a junior to look after and act providence 
to. It’s what those kids are just aching for—only 
they mayn’t know it. What good are prefects to 
them except as bogies? They skedaddle like light- 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited 61 

ning if they see so much as Rachel’s shadow. They 
each ought to have one older girl whom they can 
count on as a friend.” 

“A kind of buddy?” 

“Something of the sort, but more like a foster- 
mother.” 

“I vote we ask them all to a candy party, and each 
adopt one,” suggested Delia warmly. 

“There are ten of us, and there are nineteen 
juniors,” calculated Jess. “How’s it going to work 
out?” 

“Why, some of us must take twins or even trip¬ 
lets,” decreed Peachy. “I’m bursting to begin. Let’s 
have that candy party right away. Can anybody 
raise a lira or two?” 

“We’ll give you our subscriptions back in the 
house, if you’ll act treasurer and wheedle An¬ 
tonio. Fairy Godmothers, Limited! It’s a brainy 
notion. When shall you ask those kids? You bet 
they’ll buzz in like bees.” 

The loud clanging of the garden bell, which seemed 
to punctuate life at the Villa Camellia, broke up the 
meeting in a hurry and scattered its members in the 
direction of their classrooms. At the first oppor¬ 
tunity, however, Irene unlocked her cash-box and 
took out a contribution towards the candy party. 
She was not yet used to the Italian paper money, and 
had only a vague idea of its value, but she judged 
that two lire was the expected amount, and carried 
it accordingly to Peachy’s dormitory. 


62 The Jolliest School of All 

“You white angel! It’s a bountiful ‘contrib.’ I’ve 
squared Antonio. He’ll leave the parcel inside the 
grotto. What we should do without that dear old 
man I can’t imagine. I’ve told the juniors, and 
they’re simply crazy to come. I’ve fixed it up for 
directly after tea.” 

Antonio, the old concierge who had charge of the 
gate, was absolutely faithful to his duties as porter, 
and guarded the Villa Camellia as zealously as a con¬ 
vent, but he was lenient on one point—he was wall¬ 
ing sometimes to smuggle sweets, and those girls 
who knew how to coax could induce him to make an 
expedition to the confectioner’s and fetch them a 
small private store of what delicacies they fancied. 
He had his own ideas of how much was good for 
them, and would never be responsible for more 
than a limited allowance; neither would he under¬ 
take more than one commission per week for any 
single girl. It was a matter of favor, and to some 
of the pupils he would only grunt a refusal. Peachy, 
however, was a champion wheedler; she had a cer¬ 
tain command over the Italian language, and could 
persuade Antonio, in his native tongue, of the abso¬ 
lute necessity of her demands. He was quite gener¬ 
ous on this occasion, and slipped a fair-sized parcel 
of mixed Neapolitan bonbons into the sanctuary of 
the deserted summer-house. 

Nineteen interested juniors, bidden to an un¬ 
wonted entertainment, dodged their prefect after 
tea, evaded a basket-ball practice, scattered them- 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited 63 

selves in the grounds, met in the long pergola, and 
proceeded to the jessamine-covered arbor, where 
they were received politely by their ten hostesses. 
It was, of course, impossible to accommodate them 
inside, but the grotto was close to the place where 
Paolo, the gardner, chopped wood for the stoves, 
so there were plenty of logs lying about that served 
as seats. In a very short time the guests were set¬ 
tled, hospitality was handed round, the colored 
papers were removed from the goodies, and there 
was a general abandonment to sticky satisfaction. 
Between the first and second distributions Agnes, as 
President of the Sorority, addressed the meeting. 

“We’ve a proposition to make to you all,” she 
began. “There are some things in this school that 
aren’t always quite what they ought to be, and it’s 
rather hard for juniors to fight their own battles. 
Sometimes you squabble among yourselves—oh, I 
know!—and sometimes you get it hot from the 
seniors or the Transition. Well, we’re going to help 
you. Each of us means to take on one or more of 
you and be a sort of fairy godmother to you, and 
responsible for seeing you’re decently treated. I 
understand there’s been a little trouble about your 
lunch biscuits?” 

“It’s Bertha!” 

“And Mabel!” 

“They’re real mean!” 

“They simply grab them!” 

“Oh, do please stop it!” 


64 The Jolliest School of All 

“And we haven’t had our turns at the tennis 
courts!” 

“And Winnie borrowed my paint-box and won’t 
give it back!” 

Agnes held up a hand to stop the general clamor. 

“That’ll do!” she decreed. “I’m going to sort 
you out and give you each to your fairy godmother, 
and you may pour your woes into her ears, and she’ll 
try her level best to right your wrongs. No, you 
mayn’t say whom you’d like to have. It’s we who’ll 
do the choosing, thanks! Anybody who’s not satis¬ 
fied can walk off and she won’t get a champion at all 
or any more candy either. I mean what I say.” 

Such an awful threat reduced the juniors to order, 
and they submitted quite peaceably to be appor¬ 
tioned among their various benefactresses. Irene 
secured Little Flaxen, Lorna had a pair of solemn¬ 
eyed sisters, Peachy pounced upon the liveliest trio 
and proclaimed them as her triplets, and Delia 
adopted the two youngest as twins. 

“You can come to us at a pinch,” explained Agnes, 
“but please remember we’re Fairy Godmothers, 
Limited. We’ll fight any just crusade, but we’re not 
going to write your exercises for you, or pull you out 
of scrapes when you don’t deserve it. That’s not our 
function. There, you understand? Hand the candy 
again, somebody. There’s another piece each all 
round at least, and if there are any over I’ll throw 
them up and you shall scramble for them.” 

The immediate effect of this mission of the Camel- 


Fairy Godmothers, Limited 65 

lia Buds was a decided improvement in the conditions 
of the juniors. Next morning, at lunch-time, a stern¬ 
faced contingent mounted guard over the biscuits, 
and when Bertha and Mabel, plainly bent on piracy, 
sauntered down the room, they were told certain 
unpalatable home truths, and ignominiously put to 
rout. 

“Stop that instanter!” commanded Peachy. 

“We’re here to see fair play!” snarled Jess. 

“Be content with your own portions!” flared 
Delia. 

“Well, really! Who asked you to boss us ?” re¬ 
torted Bertha angrily. 

“Nobody; but we’re going to stop your mean 
tricks, so we give you warning. You two are a dis¬ 
grace to the Transition. I don’t know what flags 
you class yourselves under, but; I’m sure neither 
America nor Britain would be proud to own you— 
you biscuit-snatchers!” 

Peachy’s eyes were snapping sparks, and the mat¬ 
ter might have waxed even warmer had not Rachel 
reentered the room for a pencil she had dropped. 
The head prefect pricked up her ears at the sound of 
the disturbance, whereupon Mabel and Bertha, who 
knew they would receive short shrift if she demanded 
an explanation, made a hasty exit, merely murmur¬ 
ing to Jess and Peachy as they pushed past them: 

“We’ll pay you out for this!” 

“Just you wait!” 


CHAPTER VI 


Among the Olive Groves 

Quite by accident as it seemed, the Sorority of the 
Camellia Buds had turned itself from a society insti¬ 
tuted for mutual protection and fun into a Crusaders’ 
Union, pledged, like Spenser’s Red Cross Knight, to 
avenge the wrongs of distressed damsels in the junior 
forms. The ring of battle certainly added a spice of 
excitement to their secret. It was much more in¬ 
teresting to interfere personally on behalf of their 
protegees than to place debatable matters before 
the prefects. If war were involved with another 
sorority it could not be helped. And war there un¬ 
doubtedly was. Bertha and Mabel, too clever to 
court open ignominy, desisted for the present from 
biscuit-snatching, but sought other means of retalia¬ 
tion. It was unfortunate for Irene and Lorna that 
Mabel had been apportioned to them as a room¬ 
mate. Both she and Elsie were members of the rival 
sorority, so there was division in No. 3 dormitory. 
Sometimes the opposing factions would not speak to 
one another at all. Elsie was more stand-off than 
actively disagreeable and kept herself to her own 
cubicle, but Mabel was openly annoying. She trans¬ 
gressed every rule of dormitory etiquette, dashed for 

66 


Among the Olive Groves 67 

the bathroom instead of waiting her due turn, 
dumped her belongings on to other people’s chairs, 
spread the center table with her papers, fidgeted 
during study hours, and in various ways made her¬ 
self objectionable. 

Irene and Lorna, as sworn buddies, cemented yet 
more firmly the bond between them, and supported 
one another on every possible occasion. Irene was 
really growing fond of Lorna. Though the latter 
might be reserved it was something to find a ready 
listener and sympathizer. As a rule we can’t deliber¬ 
ately choose our soul-friends. Fate just seems to 
send them along and we must accept them with all 
their faults or go without. It certainly does not do 
to be too particular, or we may soon find ourselves 
chumless in the world. Irene was rather lovelorn 
for Peachy, but that bright little American, besides 
being in an upper dormitory, was before-appro¬ 
priated by other u heart-to-hearties,” and, though she 
held out the palm of good fellowship, was too 
staunch a character to desert old friends for new. 

“She’s just sweet to me, but I don’t count first,” 
decided Irene. “Well, it’s no use being jealous. If 
you can’t have the moon you must be content with a 

star, that’s all. It’s a vast amount better than noth- 

* 1 ? 

mg. 

Lorna might more aptly be described as a planet 
than a star, for her thoughts had started to revolve 
round Irene in a fixed orbit. As regards her half of 
the bargain she was absolutely content. She adored 


68 The Jolliest School of All 

her buddy, and blessed the lot that had coupled their 
names together. She had not before made a real 
friend, and Irene’s happy-go-lucky, affectionate, con¬ 
fiding disposition appealed to her. She began to try 
to protect her and look after her. It was really 
something of the mother instinct cropping out. She 
had never possessed a sister or anything little of her 
own to love, and it was a new experience to find a 
girl, rather small and younger than herself, who 
clung to her and seemed actually fond of her. 
Life, which had hitherto been chilly and self-cen¬ 
tered, suddenly grew warm. She had been used to 
pose as one who disliked school, but with this fresh 
interest her views on the subject underwent a change. 

Any girl must indeed have been hard to please who 
was not satisfied with the Villa Camellia and its beau¬ 
tiful Italian garden. All through the month of Feb¬ 
ruary flowers were in bloom there which in England 
only peep out timidly in April or May, and often 
will not brave a northern climate at all. The front 
of the howse was covered with a glorious purple 
bougainvillea, violets bloomed under the orange and 
lemon trees, and the camellias, from which the villa 
took its name, flourished in profusion, growing as 
great trees ten or twelve feet high and covered with 
rose-colored, white, or scarlet blossoms. Iris, 
freesias, narcissus, red salvias, marguerites, pansies, 
pink peonies, wallflowers, polyanthus, petunias, 
stocks, genistas, arbutula, cinerarias, begonias, and 
belladonna-lilies kept up a brave display in the 


69 


Among the Olive Groves 

border, and, though they would be more beautiful 
and luxuriant later on in the season, they neverthe¬ 
less dispelled the idea of winter. The general tem¬ 
perature at Fossato resembled an English April, the 
sunshine was warm, but the wind was apt to be 
chilly, and at night-time it was quite cold, though 
never frosty. The central heating apparatus was 
kept going in the school, and the girls, though they 
might run about without coats in the sunshine, were 
always required to have a warm jersey at hand, for 
the wind at this season could be treacherous, and 
those unused to the climate, deceived by its bright¬ 
ness and wealth of flowers, were very liable to catch 
chills and to be laid up with feverish colds as the re¬ 
sult of their own imprudence. Sometimes indeed a 
bitter sirocco wind would blow, and bring torrents 
of rain to turn the blue sea and sky to a leaden gray 
and to blot out the view of Naples and Vesuvius, 
but it seldom lasted more than a few days, and in a 
land of drought was welcomed to refresh the gardens 
and to fill the cisterns and water-tanks. 

It has been mentioned in a previous chapter that 
the Villa Camellia was of necessity run somewhat on 
convent lines. In Italy young girls do not walk 
about unchaperoned as in England and America, but 
are always very closely escorted by older people, and 
it was advisable to keep to the customs of the coun¬ 
try. The. pupils obtained most of their exercise in¬ 
side their own garden. On Sundays they paraded 
to the British church, but otherwise they did not very 


70 The Jolliest School of All 

often go into Fossato. Once a week, if the weather 
were fine, a limited number were taken for an expe¬ 
dition, but Irene had been at school for some weeks 
before this good fortune fell to her lot. One lucky 
Wednesday, however, she found her name and 
Lorna’s written on the list of “exeats” on the notice- 
board, and flew to announce the glad tidings to her 
chum. 

“Twelve of us, with Miss Bickford and Miss Parr 
as leaders. Won’t it be ripping? It says Monte 
Pellegrino. Where’s that? The big hill over there? 
Oh, great! I love a climb! I’m just dancing to go! 
I feel as if I had been boxed up inside these big walls 
for years and years. I only wish Peachy and Delia 
had been on the list too.” 

“But we are!” exclaimed Delia’s excited voice be¬ 
hind her. “Stella and Marjorie both have colds, so 
we’ve swapped places with them, and they’ll go next 
time instead. Isn’t it fine!” 

“I’m tingling right down to' my toes,” agreed 
Peachy, her jolly little freckled face one wide grin. 
“It’s going to be an afternoon of afternoons.” 

“If it doesn’t rain,” said Lorna, eyeing the sky 
suspiciously. 

“Oh, don’t be a wet blanket! It’s no use courting 
trouble, honey, as Willy Shakespeare says some¬ 
where. Oh, well, if it wasn’t Willy Shakespeare it 
was somebody else who said it, and it’s just as true 
anyway. Take your umbrella and wait till the rain 
comes down before you grumble. I’ve got an exeat 


Among the Olive Groves 71 

and I didn’t expect it, and I’m going off my head a 
little. That’s all! Don’t worry yourselves about 
me. I’m sane at the bottom.” 

With Peachy and Delia prancing about and hardly 
able to regulate their satisfaction the expedition pro¬ 
mised to be a lively one, though the harum-scarum 
pair calmed down in the presence of Miss Bickford, 
and assumed a deportment of due decorum. The 
favored twelve were half seniors and half Transition, 
the remaining pair of the latter consisting of Bertha 
Ford and Mabel Hughes. The Camellia Buds ex¬ 
changed eloquent glances at the sight of their arch¬ 
enemies, but wisely forbore to make any provocative 
remarks; Delia indeed even murmured something 
pleasant about the excursion to which Bertha grunted 
a reply, so the party started off in apparent har¬ 
mony. 

Antonio, with his big key, unlocked the great gate, 
they filed through into the eucalyptus-shaded road, 
and in ten minutes they had left the quiet school 
behind them, and were down in the gay little town 
of Fossato. It was new and wonderful to Irene. 
The wide main street with its intense brilliant sun¬ 
shine contrasting with the deep shade of the narrow 
side streets, the open shop-fronts with their displays 
of picturesque wares, the stalls of fruit and vege¬ 
tables sold by quaint country vendors, the balconies 
full of flowers, the kindly, dark-eyed, smiling people, 
the pretty peasant children clattering about in heel¬ 
less wooden shoes, the brightly painted carts and the 


72 The Jolliest School of All 

horses decorated with flowers and feathers as if for 
a perpetual May Day, all made up a scene that was 
more like a portion of a play than a piece of real 
life, and made her almost able to imagine herself 
upon the stage of a theater. They had reached a 
great square, where leafless trees were covered with 
a beautiful purple blossom, something like mezereon. 
From a marble fountain bareheaded women, with 
exquisitely arranged dark tresses and bright hand¬ 
kerchiefs folded shawl-wise round their shoulders, 
were drawing water in brass pitchers, and chattering 
the soft southern dialect with the pretty tuneful Nea¬ 
politan voices that speak like singing and sing like 
opera. An equestrian statue of Garibaldi stood on a 
pedestal in the midst of a flowerbed of gay geran¬ 
iums, and below, in the shadow, a military officer, 
with a gorgeous pale blue cloak draped over one 
shoulder, was talking to two Italian soldiers whose 
plumed hats were adorned with shining cocks’ 
feathers. 

Miss Bickford, in the van of the Villa Camellia 
queue, strode on, taking no notice, beyond a firm 
shake of the head, of the various interruptions that 
met her path—the drivers who offered their car¬ 
riages for hire, the smiling women who thrust for¬ 
ward baskets of oranges for sale, the beguiling chil¬ 
dren who held out little brown hands and begged for 
soldi (halfpennies), and the post-card vendors who 
spread out sets of colored views of the neighbor¬ 
hood. It was a good thing that Miss Parr was at 


Among the Olive Groves 73 

the rear of the procession to keep order, or the girls 
would have succumbed to some of these temptations 
and have broken rank, an unpardonable offense 
in the eyes of the school authorities, who wished to 
keep up the prestige of their establishment in the 
estimation of the town, and to emulate the convent 
school on the hill, whose pupils marched along the 
high street as demurely as young nuns. 

Turning out of the piazza they walked alongside 
a deep natural gorge which divided Fossato from the 
open country. This immense ravine was a fearsome 
place, with a sheer descent of many hundreds of feet; 
its jagged rocks were clothed with bushes and creep¬ 
ers, and clefts and the openings of caves could be 
seen amongst the greenery. The girls leaned on the 
low wall and shuddered as they gazed down the 
precipice. 

“Antonio and Dominica say that dwarfs live in 
the caves down there,” remarked Peachy. “Half 
the people in the town believe in them, but they’re 
too afraid to go and see because the dwarfs have ‘the 
evil eye,’ and would bring them bad luck.” 

“What superstitious nonsense!” laughed Rachel. 
“How can they make up such stuff?” 

“Not altogether such nonsense as you think,” cor¬ 
rected Miss Bickford, who was a student of archae¬ 
ology; “indeed / find it intensely interesting. It’s a 
case of survival of tradition. A few thousand years 
ago no doubt a race of little short dark Stone Age 
men actually lived in those caves, and took good care 


74 The Jolliest School of All 

to avenge themselves on any of the taller, stronger 
tribes who interfered with them and tried to push 
them out of their territory. The remembrance of 
them would be handed down long after they had 
become extinct, and, of course their doings were ex¬ 
aggerated, and their cunning tricks were set down 
to magic. Just as the prehistoric monsters lingered 
as dragons and firedrakes, so the small early inhabi¬ 
tants of Europe have passed into dwarfs and brown¬ 
ies and pixies. If anybody cared to dig in those caves 
I dare say flint weapons might be found. It’s a 
chance for the local antiquarian society if they’d only 
take it.” 

Leaving the gorge the party turned up a steep and 
very narrow alley between walls nine or ten feet high. 
At the tops of these walls were raised gardens 
planted with orange and lemon trees, whose fruit, in 
all stages of green, gold, and yellow, overshadowed 
the path. Across some of them were erected 
shelters of reeds or plaited grass, to prevent too 
quick ripening, but in some of the orchards the crop 
was ready, and workers were busy with ladders and 
baskets gathering their early harvests. It was a 
picturesque route, for the sides of the deep walls 
were covered with beautiful maidenhair ferns, and 
over the tops hung geraniums or clumps of white 
iris or purple stocks or clusters of little red roses. 
Here and there, at a corner, was a wayside shrine 
with a faded picture of the Madonna, and a quaint 
brass lamp in front, and perhaps some flowers laid 


Among the Olive Groves 75 

there by loving hands; dark-eyed smiling little chil¬ 
dren were playing about and giving each other rides 
in home-made hand-carts, and at one point the girls 
stood aside to let pass a donkey so loaded with tiny 
bamboo trees that it looked a mere moving mass of 
green. 

At length the deep alley between the orange 
orchards gave way to a different scene. They 
had been climbing steadily uphill, and now found 
themselves above the fruit zone and among the olive 
groves. The high walls had disappeared, and the 
path ascended by a series of steps. Gray olive trees 
were on either side, and on the bordering banks grew 
lovely wild flowers, starry purple anemones, jack-in- 
the-pulpit lilies, yellow oxalis, moon-daisies, and the 
beautiful genista which we treasure as a conserva¬ 
tory plant in England. As it was country the girls 
were allowed to break rank, and keenly enjoyed 
gathering bouquets; they scrambled up the banks, 
vying with one another in getting the best specimens. 
The view from the heights was glorious: below them 
stretched the gray-green of the olive groves, broken 
here and there by the bright pink blossoms of a 
peach tree; the white houses of Fossato gleamed 
among the dark glossy foliage of its orange 
orchards, and beyond stretched the beautiful bay of 
Naples, with its sea a blaze of blue, and old Vesu¬ 
vius smoking in the distance like a warning of trou¬ 
ble to come. 

It was at this point of the walk that Irene, foolish, 


76 The Jolliest School of All 

luckless Irene, made a fatal mistake, and, as Miss 
Bickford afterwards told her, “wrecked the whole 
excursion and spoiled everybody’s pleasure.” She 
beckoned Lorna and ran up a hill to obtain a higher 
vantage ground, then, instead of descending by the 
route she had come, she insisted upon taking a short 
cut to rejoin the path and catch up with the rest of 
the party. Now neither Lorna nor Irene was aware 
that the mountain was a network of many paths lead¬ 
ing to little vineyards and gardens, and that when 
they ran down the opposite side of the slope they 
were striking a fresh alley, altogether different from 
the one along which Miss Bickford was leading her 
flock. For quite a long way the two girls walked on, 
thinking they were in advance of the others and had 
stolen a march upon them. Then they sat down and 
waited, but nobody came. It was a considerable time 
before it dawned upon them that they were sepa¬ 
rated from the rest of the party. 

“We’ve come wrong somehow,” said Lorna, in 
much consternation. 

“What had we better do?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Perhaps they’re not far off. I’ll try if I can 
make them hear.” 

“I wouldn’t shout,” objected Lorna, but she was 
too late, for Irene was already letting off her full 
lung power in a gigantic coo-e-e. It had a totally 
different effect from what she anticipated. No 
schoolgirls with Villa Camellia hats made their ap- 


Among the Olive Groves 77 

pearance, but some rough looking Italian youths 
scrambled over a fence and came sniggering towards 
them. Their manner was so objectionable and offen¬ 
sive that the girls turned and ran. They pelted 
down the path anywhere, quite oblivious of the direc¬ 
tion they were taking, and, as a matter of fact, 
branching yet farther away from their original route. 
They could hear footsteps and giggling laughter be¬ 
hind, and they were growing extremely terrified 
when to their immense relief they saw in front of 
them an elderly peasant woman coming from the 
town. She had a bright yellow handkerchief round 
her neck and carried on her head a big basket con¬ 
taining flasks of oil, loaves of bread, and some vege¬ 
tables. She stopped in some astonishment as Lorna 
and Irene rushed panting up to her, then glimpsing 
the lads she seemed to grasp the situation, and called 
out angrily to them in Italian, whereupon they 
promptly and rapidly disappeared. As she had 
reached the gateway of her own garden she motioned 
the girls to enter, and they gladly availed themselves 
of the opportunity to seek sanctuary. A large arch¬ 
way led into a paved courtyard, on one side of which 
was a little brown house, and on the other a small 
chapel, quite a picture with its quaint half-Moorish 
tower and two large bells. Their new friend seemed 
to be the caretaker, for she escorted them inside to 
show them, with much pride, an altar-piece attributed 
to Perugino and some ancient faded frescoes of 
haloed saints. She gave them a peep into her house 


78 The Jolliest School of All 

too, and they were deeply interested to see the un¬ 
familiar foreign home, not comfortable according to 
British or American ideas of comfort, but with a 
certain charm of its own. There was a big dark 
room on the ground floor with an orange press, vari¬ 
ous agricultural implements, and numberless baskets 
for gathering fruit; there was a bare kitchen with 
a wood fire and a table spread with cups and dishes; 
then up a winding stair was a bedroom with walls 
colored sky blue, and a veranda that looked down 
over a glorious orange orchard. 

“Oh, I’d adore to go out there!” said Irene, point¬ 
ing to the path that led between the fruit-laden trees, 
and their hostess evidently divined her meaning, for 
she not only led her guests into the garden, but 
fetched a ladder, climbed a tree, and plucked each 
of them a whole cluster of oranges surrounded by a 
bunch of leaves. 

The girls were so delighted with their entertain¬ 
ment in this Italian cottage that they hardly wished 
to tear themselves away, yet a vision of Miss Bick¬ 
ford’s reproachful face began to hover before their 
eyes, and Lorna at last suggested that they must be 
moving. 

“I hope those abominable boys aren’t waiting 
about anywhere outside,” shivered Irene. 

The same thought seemed to have struck their 
hostess, for she called an elderly man, evidently her 
husband, who was pruning vines, and began a cate¬ 
chism as to where her visitors lived. Lorna replied 


79 


Among the Olive Groves 

as well as her knowledge of Italian allowed, and at 
the mention of the Villa Camellia the pair nodded 
in comprehension. After a brief conversation with 
his wife in an undertone the old man offered himself 
as guide, and undertook to escort the truants safely 
back to school again, a proposal which they thank¬ 
fully accepted. It would indeed have been difficult 
for them to find their own way among the various 
interlacing paths, and they were particularly glad to 
have his protection against possible ragazzi. There 
was tremendous trouble waiting for them at the Villa 
Camellia. Poor Miss Parr had collapsed almost into 
hysterics, and Miss Bickford with two other teachers 
had returned to the hillside on a further search, 
while Miss Rodgers was communicating by telephone 
with the Fossato police station, and offering a re¬ 
ward for any news of their whereabouts. Irene had 
thought the principal could be stern, but she never 
knew how her eyes could flash before that interview 
in the study. Both girls came out quaking like jellies 
and weeping for all to hear. 

“Did you catch it hot?” inquired Peachy, sympa¬ 
thetically linking arms with the truants. 

“Rather! It isn’t the punishments so much, it’s 
that she made us so ashamed.” 

“Our parole won’t be trusted till after half-term.” 

“We didn’t mean to run away.” 

“It was really quite an accident.” 

“Cheer up!” consoled Peachy. “Miss Rodgers 
cuts like a steel knife, but she doesn’t bear grudges. 


80 The Jolliest School of All 

I will say that for her. With some teachers you’d 
never hear the last of it, but once you’ve worked off 
your impositions you’ll be quite in favor a/gain. 
Whatever possessed you to go and do it though?” 

“Just our wretched bad luck, I suppose,” said 
Irene, rubbing her eyes as she turned up the pas¬ 
sage and deposited her confiscated cluster of 
oranges, as directed, in the pantry. 


CHAPTER VII 

Lorna’s Enemy 

For the next two weeks Irene and Lorna were 
strictly “gated,” a great deprivation, for it would 
have been their turns to go shopping with Miss Mor- 
ley, and Irene at least was anxious to sample some 
of the quaint wares spread forth so temptingly in 
the Fossato stores. With the exception of church¬ 
going they did not have a chance to step outside the 
grounds of the Villa Camellia. The Sunday expedi¬ 
tion came as a welcome relief to break the monotony. 
The school liked the little British church at Fossato. 
It was so utterly different from anything to which 
they had been accustomed in England or America. 
To begin with it was not an ecclesiastical building at 
all, but simply a big room in the basement of the 
Hotel Anglais. The walls had been exquisitely 
decorated by a French artist with conventionalized 
designs of iris in purple and gold, and through the 
windows there was a gorgeous peep over the bay. 
The girls used* to exercise much maneuvering to se¬ 
cure the seats with the best view, and somehow that 
bright stretch of the Mediterranean seemed to blend 
in as part and parcel of all the praise and thanks¬ 
giving that was being offered. 

81 




82 


The Jolliest School of All 

Punctually at twenty minutes to eleven on Sunday 
mornings the fifty-six pupils and the seven mistresses 
would leave the great gate of the Villa Camellia and 
march into the town, along the esplanade under the 
grove of palm trees, then through the beautiful 
sheltered garden of the Hotel Anglais, where many 
exotic flowers and shrubs were blooming and the 
white arum lilies were like an Easter festival, to the 
doorway, under the jessamine-covered veranda, that 
led to the Eglise anglaise et americaine. The school 
practically made half the congregation, but there 
were visitors from the various hotels, and a sprink¬ 
ling of British residents who had houses at Fossato. 
When the service was over there followed a very 
pleasant quarter of an hour in the piazza of the 
hotel; the clergyman and his wife would speak per¬ 
sonally to many of the girls, and any of the pupils 
who met friends were allowed to talk to them. Fos¬ 
sato was a popular week-end resort from Naples, so 
relatives often turned up on Sundays and there were 
many joyous reunions. Kind little Canon Clark and 
his small bird-like wife were great favorites at the 
Villa Camellia. They were always invited to school 
functions, and each term the girls, in relays of about 
ten at a time, were offered hospitality at the “Villa 
Bleue,” a tiny dwelling that served as parsonage for 
the British chaplain. To go to tea at the dear wee 
house—color-washed blue, and with pink geraniums 
in its window-boxes—was considered a treat, and 
Irene and Lorna looked very glum indeed when 


83 


Lorna s Enemy 

Miss Rodgers kept severely to their punishment, and 
substituted Agnes and Elsie for themselves in the 
next contingent of guests. 

“You’ll go later on,” consoled Peachy. “Miss 
Rodgers is really very decent in that way. She’ll see 
that you get your turn once in a term at any rate. 
Last time I went we had hot brown scones and mo¬ 
lasses. Oh, they were good! There! I oughtn’t to 
have told you that when your turn’s off. Never 
mind. It will be something to look forward to. We 
always play paper games there, and they’re such fun. 
There I am again! Well, if you went to-day it would 
be over and done with by to-morrow, and it’s still all 
to come. That’s one way of taking it.” 

“Oh, it’s all very well to moralize!” grumped 
Lorna, who was feeling thoroughly cross. “It’s easy 
enough to count up other people’s blessings. I’m a 
blighted blossom!” 

“Poor little thing! 

She lived all the winter 
And died in the spring,” 

quoted Peachy with an extra wide grin. “Cheer up! 
Don’t you realize it’s only ten days to half-term? 
Oh, do, for goodness’ sake, look less like a statue of 
melancholy! Do you know, child, that you’re getting 
permanent wrinkles along that forehead of yours, 
and it makes you more like fifty than fifteen. You’re 
too sedate. That’s what’s the matter with you, 
Lorna Carson! It’s a fault that ought to be over- 





84 The Jolliest School of All 

come. Copy Delia and me. We know how to enjoy 
ourselves. There—my lecture is over and now let’s 
talk of earthquakes.” 

“It’s all very well for you , you’ve got everything 
you want,” murmured Lorna bitterly under her 
breath. “Some people haven’t half the luck, and it’s 
hard to be content with a short allowance and pre¬ 
tend you’re the same as every one else. It can’t al¬ 
ways be done.” 

She turned away as she said it, so Peachy only 
caught the sound of a grumble and did not hear the 
actual words. Had she done so she might possibly 
have exhibited more sympathy, for she was a very 
kind-hearted girl. Neither she nor anybody at the 
Villa Camellia understood Lorna in the least. So 
far their classmate had been somewhat of a chestnut- 
bur, and nobody in the Transition had ever pene¬ 
trated her husk of reserve. There is generally a rea¬ 
son for most things in life, if we could only know it, 
and poor Lorna’s morose and hermit attitude at 
school was really the result of matters at home. To 
get into her innermost confidence we must follow her 
to Naples on her half-term holiday and see for our¬ 
selves the peculiar circumstances amid which she had 
been placed, and the disadvantages that had caused 
her to differ from other girls. 

Lorna’s family was the smallest possible, for it 
consisted only of her father. Nobody at the Villa 
Camellia had ever seen Mr. Carson—not even Miss 
Rodgers. He had communicated with her by writing 


85 


Lorna’s Enemy 

when he wished to place his daughter at the school, 
but he had never paid a single visit to Fossato. He 
pleaded stress of business as the excuse for this re¬ 
missness, but Lorna herself knew only too well 
that he had no intention of coming. Except to the 
office at which he was employed he never went to 
any place where he would be likely to meet English 
visitors. The furnished rooms where he lived were 
in the strictly Italian portion of Naples, and not in 
the vicinity of the big hotels. Secretly Lorna 
dreaded her holidays. There was nothing for her 
to do while her father was at the office. She was not 
allowed to go out alone, and unless she could induce 
fat Signora Fiorenza, their landlady, to be philan¬ 
thropic and chaperon her to look at the shops, she 
was obliged to amuse herself in the house during 
the day as best she could. In the evening things 
were certainly better. Her father would take her 
to dine at an Italian restaurant, and would some¬ 
times treat her to a performance at a theater or 
cinema close at hand, or would escort her for a lamp¬ 
light walk along the streets, but these brief expedi¬ 
tions were evidently made out of a sense of duty, and 
Mr. Carson was plainly unhappy until he was once 
more ensconced in his own sitting-room with his fa¬ 
vorite books and his reading-lamp. He had seen so 
little of his daughter during the five years they had 
lived at Naples that, though in a sense he was fond 
of her, she was more of an embarrassment to him 
than an asset. Lorna realized this only too keenly. 



86 The Jolliest School of All 

Her sensitive disposition shrank away from her 
father. She was shy in his presence, and never knew 
what t j say to him. She seemed always aware of 
some enormous shadow that hung over their lives 
and darkened the daylight. What this was she had 
no means of guessing, but it was emphatically there. 
She had learned, by bitter experience, never to ask 
to be taken to the fashionable portions of the city; 
she knew that the sound of a voice speaking English 
• at a neighboring table was enough to cause her 
father to finish his meal in a hurry and leave the 
restaurant. They never went to the British Church, 
and even such cosmopolitan spots as the aquarium or 
the museum were equally taboo. 

Long and often did Lorna puzzle over this idio¬ 
syncrasy of her father. She retained vague mem¬ 
ories of her early childhood, when he had surely been 
utterly different and would come into the nursery to 
romp with her. It had not been altogether her 
mother’s death; that had happened when she was 
only six years old, and there were bright memories 
after it of happy times together. No—it was when 
she was ten years old that the unknown catastrophe 
must have occurred which had ruined her father’s 
life. She could remember plainly the visit of several 
gentlemen, and of loud angry voices talking inside 
the drawing-room; she was standing on the stairs as 
they came out into the hall, and her father had told 
her roughly to run away. Then had followed a 
hasty removal, and they had left their comfortable 


87 


Lorna’s Enemy 

home in London and had come to live in Naples. 
After a dreary time in a second-rate Italian board¬ 
ing-house she had been sent to the Villa Camellia, 
and all link with England was lost and broken. No 
aunt or cousins ever wrote to her, and the earlier 
portion of her life seemed a period that was utterly 
ended. 

So far Lorna had never had the courage to make 
any inquiries into the why and wherefore of this un¬ 
satisfactory state of affairs. If a question rose to 
her lips the sight of her father’s forbidding face ef¬ 
fectually curbed her curiosity. That some tragedy 
had been concealed from her she was positive. The 
suspicion, nay the absolute certainty, was sufficient 
to place a division between herself and other girls. 
She would hear her schoolfellows discussing their 
homes, relations, and friends, and when she con¬ 
trasted their gay doings with her own barren holi¬ 
days she shrank into her shell, and would make no 
allusion to her private affairs. 

‘‘Lorna’s an absolute oyster, you can get nothing 
out of her,” was the universal verdict of her form. 

But if she said little she thought a great deal. She 
would listen jealously to the accounts of other peo¬ 
ple’s fun, and a bitter feeling had grown in her heart. 
Why should her life be so shadowed? She had as 
much right to happiness as the rest of the school. 
Why should she seem singled out by a vindictive fate 
and separated from her companions? 

In justice to the girls at the Villa Camellia it is 




88 The Jolliest School of All 

only fair to say that any separation was entirely of 
Lorna’s own making. Had she been more expansive 
she would *have readily enough found friends. No 
one knew of the misery of her home life, and she 
was simply judged as what her schoolfellows 
thought her—a queer-tempered crank who refused 
to join in the general fun of the place, and in conse¬ 
quence was left out of most things. 

Irene, pleasant and hail-fellow-well-met with all 
comers, had at once noticed this attitude of the 
others towards Lorna. At the drawing of lots in the 
sorority she had somehow realized that everybody 
was extremely thankful to have escaped having her 
unpopular chum as a buddy. Chance remarks and 
slight allusions, hardly noticed at the time, but re¬ 
membered later, had confirmed this. 

“They’re not exactly unkind, but they’re down on 
that girl,” she had concluded. “I haven’t made up 
my mind yet whether I altogether like her, but I’m 
going to be decent to her all the same.” 

As the very first who had treated her on a real 
equality of girlhood Irene had been placed on a 
pedestal in Lorna’s empty heart. The separation 
between the two added to the loneliness of the lat¬ 
ter’s brief half-term holiday. She had never missed 
school so much before, or hated her surroundings so 
entirely. The long week-end dragged itself slowly 
away. Sunday was wet and they stayed all day in the 
little sitting-room, Mr. Carson reading as usual, and 
Lorna trying to amuse herself with Italian maga- 


89 


Lorna’s Enemy 

zines and fidgeting as much as she dared. Towards 
evening the rain cleared a little and her father went 
out, refusing, however, to allow her to accompany 
him. At the end of an hour he returned and flung 
himself heavily into his chair. He was in a state 
such as she had never witnessed before, violently ex¬ 
cited, with glaring eyes and twitching hands. 

“Lorna!” he exclaimed in quick panting accents, 
“I have met my enemy. The man who ruined me! 
Yes, the man who deliberately blackened and ruined 
me!” 

Lorna turned to him half frightened. 

“What is it, Father?” she asked. “Have you an 
enemy? You’ve never let me know before. Oh, I 
wish you’d tell me! I’m fifteen now, and surely old 
enough to hear. It’s so horrible to feel there’s 
something you’re always keeping from me.” 

“I suppose you’ll find out some time, so I may as 
well tell you myself,” replied Mr. Carson grimly. 
“I’m a wronged, ruined man, Lorna, suffering for 
the sin of another who goes scotfree. The world 
judged me guilty of embezzlement, but before God 
I am innocent! I never touched a penny of the 
money. Do you believe me innocent? Surely my 
own daughter won’t turn against me?” 

“No, no, Father! Indeed I believe you innocent. 
Tell me how it happened. Was it when we left 
London? I seem to remember the trouble there was 
then, though you never explained. We had a dif¬ 
ferent name then, hadn’t we?” 



90 The Jolliest School of All 

“You were too young at the time to understand, 
and it wasn’t a subject I wished to revive. Briefly, a 
big sum, for which I was responsible, disappeared. 
The head of the firm believed me guilty, but for the 
sake of old associations he would not prosecute; he 
simply told me to go. I consulted my lawyer, and, 
if there had been the slightest chance of clearing 
myself, I’d have fought the matter to a finish, but 
he told me my case hadn’t a leg to stand on, and that, 
if I were foolish enough to bring it into court, I 
should certainly be convicted of embezzlement, and 
sent to penal servitude; that it was only the clemency 
of my chief’s attitude that saved me, and that he 
advised me to go abroad while I could. So I left 
England in a hurry, a disgraced man, disowned by 
his family and his friends. I changed my name to 
Carson, and through the kindness of a business ac¬ 
quaintance I was offered a clerkship in an Italian 
counting-house in Naples, which post I have kept 
ever since. How I should otherwise have made a 
living God only knows! It’s always my haunting 
fear that some one in Naples will recognize me and 
tell them at the office who I am. If that old story 
leaks out I may once more be ruined.” 

“But who did it, Father?” asked Lorna. “Had 
you no clew at all?” 

“Not enough to convict, only a strong suspicion, 
so strong that it is practically a certainty. The man 
who ruined me was once my friend. Now for five 
long years, he has been my bitterest enemy. We 


91 


Lorna’s Enemy 

were both heads of departments in the firm of Bur¬ 
gess and Co. Probably he’s a partner now, as I 
ought to have been. I’ve never heard news of him 
since I left London, but to-day I saw him in the 
Corso. I saw him plainly without any possibility of 
mistake. What is he doing in Naples? Has he 
come here to ruin me again?” 

“No, no, Dad, surely not! Perhaps he doesn’t 
know you’re in Italy. Probably he’s only taking a 
holiday and will go back to England soon,” faltered 
Lorna, suddenly realizing that in her father’s excited 
nervous condition she ought to offer consolation and 
soothe him instead of adding to his agitation. “It’s 
very unlikely that he would find you out. Dad, don’t 
grieve so, please!” 

She went near to her father’s chair and laid a 
timid hand on his shoulder. An immense gush of 
pity for him flooded her heart. If she had known 
this story before, she would have understood, and 
instead of thinking him unkind and misanthropic she 
would have tried to be a better daughter to him. 
The new-found knowledge illuminated all the past 
and seemed to draw them closely together. 

“Mother would have believed in you, Dad,” she 
ventured to say. 

“Thank God she never knew! She was spared 
that at any rate. I raged against Providence when 
I lost her, but afterwards I felt she had been ‘taken 
away from the evil to come.’ Her relations thought 
me guilty. I went to them and explained, but they 






92 The Jolliest School of All 

practically told me I was lying. When I went 
abroad I never sent them my address. I just 
wished to vanish. I don’t suppose they have ever 
troubled to inquire for me. Who cares about a 
ruined and disgraced man?” 

“/ care, Dad,” said Lorna. “I’m only fifteen and 
I can’t understand everything, but if you’ll let me the 
least little bit take Mother’s place, may I try? I’m 
not much, but perhaps I’m better than nobody, and 
we two seem all alone in the world.” 

For the first time in five years the barrier between 
them was down, and Lorna was hugging her father 
as in the old happy childish days. To know all is to 
forgive all, and her resentment against his treat¬ 
ment of her turned into a deep pitying love. She 
would never be frightened of him again. A new im¬ 
pulse seemed to have come to her. If she could in 
any way comfort him for what he had suffered, it 
would be something to live for. 

“He’s my father, and I’ll stick to him through 
thick and thin,” she said to herself fiercely, as she 
went to bed that night. “I don’t know who this 
enemy is, but if ever I meet him I’ll hate him and 
all belonging to him. I say it, and I don’t go back 
on my word. I’ll be my own witness as nobody 
else is present. Lorna Carson, you’ve taken up a 
feud and you’ve got to carry it through. May all 
the bad luck in the world come down upon you if you 
break your oath.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


At Pompeii 

Lorna returned to Fossato feeling as if she had 
passed through a great crisis. The short week-end 
and its revelation seemed to have added years to her 
life. She had never been a typical specimen of “spark¬ 
ling girlhood,” but her new knowledge made her 
more sedate than ever. It brought her both gain 
and loss: gain in the fact that she now shared her 
father’s confidence, and could help him to bear his 
heavy burden, and loss in the sense of a yet wider 
division between herself and her schoolmates. She 
realized now, only too bitterly, why her father so 
persistently shunned all English people. It would 
surely have been better to have placed her at an 
Italian school than among girls of her own national¬ 
ity. Lorna, naturally morbid and over-sensitive, 
shrank yet deeper into her shell, and became more 
sphinx-like than ever. Her one bright spot at the 
Villa Camellia was her devotion to her buddy. 
Half a dozen other girls had at various periods tried 
to “take Lorna up,” but all had promptly dropped 
her, declaring that they could not get any further, 
and that she was a solitary “hermit-crab.” Irene, 

93 





94 The Jolliest School of All 

after one or two ventures, realized that Lorna was 
utterly reserved and uncommunicative, but was con¬ 
tent to continue the friendship on a one-sided basis, 
giving confidences, but receiving none in return. 
She was a little laughed at in certain quarters on the 
subject of her chum. 

“Hope you like crab sauce.” 

“We’re tickled to bits at the pair of you.” 

“It won’t last long.” 

“Shall we give you an oyster-opener for a birth¬ 
day present?” 

“You’ve got the champion chestnut-bur of the 
school—aren’t you full of prickles?” 

“Go on!” smiled Irene calmly. “I’ve been teased 
all my life by my brother, so I’m pretty well bomb¬ 
proof. Say just what you like. I’m sure I don’t 
care.” 

It really did not trouble Irene that Lorna should 
cling to this habit of closeness. She had so many 
affairs of her own in which to be interested. She 
had spent a glorious half-term holiday with her 
family in their flat at Naples, and was delighted to 
describe every detail of her experiences. She chatted 
about her relations till Lorna knew Mr. and Mrs. 
Beverley and Vincent absolutely well by hearsay, 
though she had never met them in the flesh. The 
accounts of their doings gave her a peep of home 
life such as she had not hitherto realized. • 

“Lovely to be you,” she ventured once. 

“You must come and see us,” replied Irene impul- 


95 


At Pompeii 

sively. “I’ll get Mother to ask you some day. 
Don’t look so scared. They wouldn’t eat you. 
Don’t you like paying visits? Oh well, of course, if 
you don’t want to come I won’t worry you. No, I’m 
not offended. Why should I be? Let everybody 
please herself is my motto. Oh, don’t apologize, 
for it really doesn’t matter in the very least! I’d 
far rather people were frank and said what they 
thought.” 

“I’m going with you to Pompeii to-morrow at 
any rate,” said Lorna. “I’m glad they’ve put us 
both down together for that excursion.” 

It was part of the educational scheme of Miss 
Rodgers and Miss Morley that the girls should be 
taken to certain places of interest in the neighbor¬ 
hood. They were carefully prepared in class before¬ 
hand, so that they should thoroughly understand 
what they were going to see. All the school studied 
Greek and Roman history, and since Christmas there 
had been special lectures by Miss Morley on the 
buried city of Pompeii, illustrated by lantern-slides. 
But photography, how T ever excellent, is a poor sub¬ 
stitute for reality when the latter can be obtained. 
Had the Villa Camellia been situated in England or 
America no doubt the pupils would have considered 
those views a tremendous asset to their history class, 
but being in the near neighborhood of Naples they 
were able to “go one better,” and have actual ex¬ 
peditions to Pompeii itself. A dozen of the girls, 
personally conducted by Miss Morley, were to start 





96 The Jolliest School of All 

on Thursday, take their lunch, and make a day of it. 
Most of those chosen were comparative newcomers 
to the school, or for some reason had not done the 
excursion before, so it would be a fresh experience to 
nearly all of them. Six seniors and six members of 
the Transition made up the party, with little Desiree 
Legrand tagged on at the last as a mascot, because 
Stella and Carrie had pointed out that twelve pupils 
and one mistress would make thirteen at table if they 
had tea together, and though Miss Morley had 
scoffed at such ridiculous superstition, she took De¬ 
siree all the same to break the possible bad luck. 
They had the satisfaction of assembling in the hall 
for the start exactly as their companions were filing 
into classrooms. 

“Got your nose-bag?” asked Delia, indicating her 
lunch satchel. “It wouldn’t do to leave those behind. 
I always feel famished when I’m out sightseeing. 
Hope I shan’t eat my lunch before the picnic. Renie, 
it’s no use lugging that camera with you. You won’t 
be allowed to take any photos inside the ruins, so I 
warn you.” 

“Miss Morley’s taking hers,” objected Irene, 
loath to relinquish the object in question. 

“Miss Morley has a special government permit to 
sketch or photo in Pompeii. Nobody may take the 
slightest snap-shot or drawing without. I’ve been 
once before, so I know, Madam Doubtful. You’ll 
see ever so many officials will ask to look at Miss 
Morley’s ticket. Why? Because the place would 


97 


At Pompeii 

get choked up with artists I suppose. And also they 
want to sell their own photos. You’ll be pestered to 
buy post-cards outside the gates.” 

“ I’d adore to get just one or two snaps,” persisted 
Irene. “I won’t take this big camera, but I’ll slip 
my wee one inside my pocket, and see if I find a 
chance.” 

“Are you ready, girls?” came Miss Morley’s voice 
from the porch, and the waiting thirteen formed into 
double line and marched. 

They were to go by the electric tram from Fossato 
to Castellamare, from which it was only a compara¬ 
tively short drive to Pompeii. The jogging, jolting, 
little tramcar ran along the coast, linking up several 
towns and villages and conveying people intent on 
either business or pleasure. There were many visi¬ 
tors anxious to make the excursion to-day, but the 
contingent from the Villa Camellia had posted them¬ 
selves by the statue of Garibaldi in the square, and 
scrambled for the car as soon as it arrived, boarding 
it with three hatless Italian girls, two women with 
orange baskets, a sailor carrying a little boy, and a 
stout old padre, who apologized prettily for push- 
ing. 

“We did those folks from the Hotel Royal,” 
chuckled Delia, sitting on Irene’s knee for lack of 
further accommodation. “Did you ever see a tram 
fill up quicker? I’m afraid I’m heavy. I know I’m 
an awful lump. We’ll take it in turns, and I’ll nurse 
you after a while. I call this rather priceless. 



98 The Jolliest School of All 

Everybody’s good-tempered even if they do hustle. 
They don’t seem to mind people treading on their 
toes. It’s infectious. I catch myself smiling, and 
I’d jolly well frown as a rule if any one yanked a 
basket into my back.” 

“I think it’s the climate,” remarked Irene. “In 
a London tram most faces don’t look too cheerful, 
but with this sky overhead people are simply chirp¬ 
ing like crickets. It’s like a perpetual summer holi¬ 
day.” 

The car was rattling along the steep coast road 
through miles of glorious scenery. On the left was 
an ultramarine sea, with white-sailed boats, and to 
the right lay cliffs and olive groves. Some of the 
trees were covered with catkins, and others had 
already burst into green leaf; gorgeous yellow 
genistas clothed the hillsides, and the banks were 
dappled with blue borage and marigolds. There 
were so many things to look at from either window 
of the tram; goats were feeding along the crags, and 
a gray businesslike battle-ship was wending its way 
across the harbor in the direction of Naples. They 
passed through several small towns or villages, get¬ 
ting a vivid impression of the lives of the inhab¬ 
itants, who, on sunny days, seemed to do much of 
their domestic work out of doors, and to peel po¬ 
tatoes, wash salads, cook on charcoal braziers, sew, 
mend shoes, make lace, and pursue many other voca¬ 
tions on the pavements in front of the houses, and 
so far from being disturbed by onlookers, would 


At Pompeii 99 

smile and even wave friendly hands at the strangers 
on the tramcar. 

“That darling old soul in the green apron blew 
me a kiss,” chuckled Delia. “She looks as happy as 
a queen, though she’s probably living on about ten 
cents a day.” 

“Did you see them dressing the baby on the pave¬ 
ment?” squealed Stella. “They were winding it 
round and round in yards of bandages exactly like 
old Italian pictures. I didn’t know it was done 
nowadays.” 

“Oh ! Look at the carts drawn by bullocks.” 

“And the lamb with its fleece all combed out 
and tied with blue ribbons.” 

“That’s because it’s Mid-Lent.” 

“Don’t you see the baby donkey? There! 
Quick!” 

In her efforts to watch everything at once Delia 
craned her neck through the window of the car and 
away went her school hat, sailing over a bridge and 
down into a deep ravine below, lost forever so far 
as she was concerned, as the tram certainly would 
not stop and wait while she searched for it. 

“You’ve come down a peg in life, old sport, that’s 
all,” laughed Carrie. “In Italy wearing a hat is a 
sign of gentility. No work-girl ever has one on her 
head even on Sundays. I offered a cast-off of mine 
to the bonne at a hotel once, and she eyed it long¬ 
ingly, but said she daren’t wear it if she took it, her 
friends would think it such swank.” 









100 The Jolliest School of All 

“What do they have on in church then?” asked 
Delia. 

“Handkerchiefs, of course. Every Neapolitan has 
one handy to slip round her head at the church door. 
It must save millinery bills.” 

“And they all have the most beautiful hair. 
Hello! Here we are at the terminus. What a 
crowd of beggars. They look like brigands waiting 
to pounce on us. Help !” 

Once out of the shelter of the tramcar the girls 
made the unpleasant discovery that in Italy begging 
is not forbidden, but quite a recognized profession 
with certain of the poorer classes. They were im¬ 
mediately surrounded by a ragged rabble, some of 
whom exhibited sores or other unsightly afflictions 
to compel compassion, and all of whom held out 
dirty hands and persistently clamored for money. 
The blind, the halt, and the maimed were there, evi¬ 
dently regarding tourists as their legitimate prey, 
and bent upon claiming all the charity they could 
get. 

“Don’t give them anything,” commanded Miss 
Morley, anxiously keeping her little flock in tow, 
and shepherding them towards the piazza where the 
carriages could be hired. “Just say Niente, and 
shake your heads. Hold a safe hand on your purses 
and stick together. Don’t get separated on any ac¬ 
count.” 

With considerable difficulty they forced their way 
across the square, and thankfully took refuge in 


101 


At Pompeii 

several waiting landaus, whose drivers, feeling sure 
of their patronage, promptly raised their terms high 
above the ordinary tariff. It was only after much 
bargaining on the part of Miss Morley that they 
consented to fix a reasonable sum for the excursion 
to Pompeii. 

“Miss Morley talks Italian like a native, so they 
can’t ‘do’ her,” rejoiced Stella proudly. “Aren’t 
they the absolute limit? No, I don’t want to buy a 
comb, or corals, or brooches, or post-cards, or any¬ 
thing. They seem to think we’re made of money. 
Why can’t they let us alone? There, thank good¬ 
ness, we’re off at last and can leave the whole per¬ 
suasive crew of them behind us!” 

The five-mile drive from Castellamare was part 
of the fun of the excursion, but Pompeii was, of 
course, the main object, and there was much excite¬ 
ment when they at last drew up at the great iron 
gate. Miss Morley bought tickets for the party, 
and they were assigned a guide, a smiling Italian of 
superlative politeness, bearing a badge with the 
number 24 upon it. 

“I asked for one who could speak English, but 
they’re all out with other visitors,” explained Miss 
Morley. “Never mind. It’s a good opportunity of 
testing your Italian, and I can interpret if you don’t 
understand.” 

In spite of the lantern-slides which they had previ¬ 
ously been shown, the girls had come with varying 
expectations of what they were to see. Some imag- 



102 The Jolliest School of All 

ined they would walk into a Roman city exactly as it 
stood when buried by the ashes of the great eruption 
of a.d. 79; others thought there would be a few in¬ 
teresting things peeping up here and there amid 
mounds of cinders. None had imagined it would be 
so large. 

As a matter of fact the remains are simply the 
bare ruins of a town destroyed by burning ashes, 
which have been extricated from the rubbish ac¬ 
cumulated during more than seventeen centuries. 
The paved streets and the roofless and broken walls 
of the houses still remain, with here and there some 
building that by a fortunate chance escaped, either 
in whole or in part, the general catastrophe, and 
suffice to show the general style and beauty of the 
Graeco-Roman architecture of the first century. 
The guide marshaled his party along, pointing out 
to them the various objects of interest that had 
been excavated, the beautiful marble drinking-foun¬ 
tain, the marble counters of the shops, identical with 
those still used in Southern Italy, the wine jars of 
red earthenware, the hand-mills for grinding corn, 
the brick ovens, or the vaults where wine had been 
stored. They went into the site of the ancient mar¬ 
ket, and the Forum and several temples, and walked 
up long flights of steps and admired rows of broken 
columns, and saw the public swimming-baths with 
their tasteful wall decorations and the niches where 
the bathers had placed their clothes, and they ad¬ 
mired the law-courts, and marveled at the great 


At Pompeii 103 

theater that had been wont to hold five thousand 
spectators. 

The general impression was one of utter desola¬ 
tion. The mighty ruins lay in the bright Italian 
sunshine, and, close above, Vesuvius frowned over 
the scene, as if still watching the result of his deadly 
handiwork. Who had lived in those blackened fire- 
swept houses, and walked in those grass-grown 
streets? It was difficult to imagine the busy throng¬ 
ing crowds that once must have peopled all these 
silent haunts, where the only signs of life were the 
little green lizards that darted over the crumbling 
walls. 

Certain of the best houses were railed round and 
kept carefully locked, and inside these could be seen 
what was left of the domestic life of civilized 
Pompeii. The girls enjoyed looking at the rooms 
in the Casa Dei Vettii, with the exquisite paintings 
of cupids still left upon the scarlet walls, they 
laughed at the quaint mosaic of the chained dog 
with its warning Cave Canem (Beware of the 
dog!), and they went into ecstasies over the lovely 
little statue of the Dancing Faun and some terra¬ 
cottas of Venus and Mercury. One link with the 
past was left in the fact that a few of the houses 
still preserved the names and even the portrait-busts 
of their former owners. 

“My! Doesn’t he look boss of the place still? 
I wonder if I ought to leave my visiting card for 
him,” declared Delia, staring at the green marble 


104 The jolliest School of All 

representation of Cecilius Giscondis, a banker by 
profession. 

The others laughed. They had all been feeling 
rather oppressed, and were glad to break the ice. 

“I’m so tired, I should think we must have walked 
miles,” groaned Lorna. 

“And I’m on the point of famishing,” protested 
Irene, slapping her lunch-bag with a resounding 
smack. 

Miss Morley turned round at the sound, and pos¬ 
sibly caught the remark, for she spoke hastily to 
the guide, then suggested that the girls should sit 
in a row on a fallen column and consume their pro¬ 
visions. 

“You all need a rest and something to eat now. 
Then we’ll go on with our sightseeing, and have 
tea at the restaurant when we’ve finished,” she 
decreed. 

Never were ham sandwiches and oranges so ac¬ 
ceptable. Viewing ruins may be extremely inter¬ 
esting, but it is a highly fatiguing occupation, and 
Delia at least had reached the stage of the over¬ 
burdened camel. 

“I guess I don’t like anything B.c. It’s too de¬ 
pressing. Give me Paris!” she declared tragically. 

“Cheer up, old sport!” consoled Irene. “I’m 
going to take a snap-shot of some of us when the 
guide isn’t looking. You shall be in it. You’d like 
to send some prints to your friends in America, 
wouldn’t you?” 


105 


At Pompeii 

“Rather! They’d burst with envy to see me 
photographed inside Pompeii. Where are you go¬ 
ing to take us? I’ve finished my lunch. Let’s get 
busy quick, before the guide comes round the 
corner.” 

Delia was prancing with eagerness. She flitted 
about like a butterfly, bent on choosing the best posi¬ 
tion for the desired snap-shot. Blanche, Mabel, and 
Elsie came hurrying up anxious to join the group, 
and fixed themselves in elegant poses. 

“Oh, I can’t put in such a crowd,” objected 
Irene. “You block out the whole of the view. I 
only want Delia and Lorna, and yes, I’ll have 
Desiree, but nobody else. Please clear out of the 
way.” 

“Well, really!” 

“You mean thing!” 

“We don’t want to be in your old photo!” 

Irene had felt cross and was possibly impolite, 
but she was not prepared for the Nemesis that 
descended upon her head. She had just congratu¬ 
lated herself that Blanche, Mabel, and Elsie had 
beaten a retreat and that she had been able to take 
her snap-shot so successfully, when who should make 
his unwelcome appearance but the guide, catching 
her in the very act of winding on her film. He 
sighed sorrowfully, and spread out his hands with 
a dramatic Italian gesture. 

“Signorina! Non e permesso!” he objected. 

“I’m awfully sorry. I won’t do it again, really,” 



106 The Jolliest School of All 

murmured Irene, cramming the little camera back 
into her pocket. 

But this apology did not content No. 24. He 
very courteously, but quite firmly, insisted upon 
temporarily confiscating the prohibited article. Miss 
Morley, who hurried up at the sound of the alter¬ 
cation, took the side of the authorities. 

“Who brought a camera? Irene! You knew it 
was not allowed. Yes, you must let the guide have 
it. He’ll give it back to you at the gate. I hope 
there won’t be any trouble about it. I believe you 
can be fined. It was very naughty of you to do such 
a thing.’’ 

Much crestfallen Irene retired into the rear of 
the party, and bewailed the fate of her snap¬ 
shots. 

“It was hard luck the guide should pop round 
the corner that exact minute,’’ she groaned. 

“Mabel fetched him,’’ squeaked Desiree. “I 
could see over the railing, and I watched her go. 
She was mad that you wouldn’t put her in the 
photo.” 

“What a sneaking trick to play. She’s the mean¬ 
est girl. I wouldn’t have told about her . I hope 
No. 24 won’t take the spool out of the camera, 
because there are three undeveloped snaps of the 
Villa Camellia on it, and I shall be wild if I lose 
them. He couldn’t be so heartless. If I only knew 
Italian better I’d try and coax him.” 



“‘SIGNORINA! IT IS NOT PERMITTED !’ ” 

—Page lo5 









107 


At Pompeii 

The guide had obligingly waited while the girls 
ate lunch, but he now waxed impatient, and hurried 
his party on to the House of Pansa. This must 
have been quite a palatial residence, and showed 
such perfect examples of the arrangement of the 
various rooms in a Roman mansion that they lin¬ 
gered a long time looking at the atrium, the 
tablinum, the peristyle, and the kitchen with its curi¬ 
ous mosaics of snakes. Now, though it was all very 
interesting, it was certainly tiring, and some of the 
girls grew weary of listening to the guide’s descrip¬ 
tions in Italian or Miss Morley’s explanations. 

“I’m bored stiff,” confessed Delia, in a whisper, 
linking on to Irene’s arm. “If I have any more 
information crammed into my head it will burst. I 
know quite enough about ancient customs already. 
All I can say is I’m thankful I’m living now instead 
of then. Renie, if you love me, take me out of ear¬ 
shot of Miss Morley and let me chatter and frivol.” 

“Poor old sport!” laughed Irene. “Let’s slip 
away and take another turn round the garden while 
the guide finishes haranguing. I’m out of friends 
with him since he stole my camera. He doesn’t de¬ 
serve anybody to listen to him. I’ve a few chocs left 
in this package. You shall have some to cheer you 
up. They’re modern at any rate.” 

“You mascot!” murmured Delia. “Stella says 
I’m a Goth, but why need I like old things? Did 
the Pompeians take their schoolgirls to look at buried 





108 The Jolliest School of All 

Greek cities, or were they satisfied with their own 
times? How soon do you think we shall have tea? 
These chocs have saved my life, but I’m longing for 
bread and butter and buns.” 

“Why, we haven’t finished lunch very long.” 

“I ate more than half of mine in the carriage, so 
I hadn’t much left. Hello! Where have the others 
been? I didn’t know there was a way up there.” 

The rest of the party were clattering down a 
flight of wooden steps with many expressions of 
admiration for what they had seen at the top. 

“Perfectly beautiful! The finest view of all,” 
purred Miss Morley. “Renie and Delia, didn’t you 
go up? You silly girls. You’ve missed a treat. 
No, I’m afraid we can’t wait now. The guide is 
anxious to take us on. We haven’t seen the House 
of Sallust yet or the Street of Tombs. I want to 
ask him whether they’ve been doing any more ex¬ 
cavations near the Herculaneum Gate.” 

Miss Morley, deep in conversation with No. 24, 
passed on, in the full belief that all her flock were 
following behind her. Irene and Delia, however, 
were determined to have just one peep at the view 
from the top of the wall, so both made a dash up 
the wooden staircase. From here there was a glori¬ 
ous prospect of the entire city with its arches and 
columns and broken temples, its cypress trees, and 
its somber background of smoking mountain. They 
could see exactly the way they had come from the 
entrance, and could tell which was the Street of 


At Pompeii 10? 

Fortune and which the Street of Abundance. It was 
so fascinating that they lingered rather longer than 
they intended. 

“They’ll be waiting for us,” ventured Irene at last. 

“Oh, bother! So they will,” exclaimed Delia, 
rushing down prepared for a scolding. 

But the others had not waited. They had all 
simply walked on, and the custodian had locked the 
gate behind them. It was fast closed, and no 
amount of shaking would move it. 

“We’re shut in,” gasped Irene. “Where’s the 
porter? He ought to be somewhere about with the 
key.” 

The custodian, quite oblivious of the fact that 
anybody had been left inside the House of Pansa, 
was reading a newspaper and eating bread and garlic 
under his wooden shed farther down the street, 
where he would remain till the next guide came 
along with a party and requested admission. So he 
did not hear, though the girls thumped and called 
and made a very considerable noise. They were 
both horribly frightened. 

“Shall we have to stay here all night?” 

“I’d be scared to death.” 

“Think of the spooks!” 

“Why the whole place must be simply chock-full 
of ghosts after sunset.” 

“Couldn’t we jump from the wall?” 

“I wish I’d never come. Oh, I hate things B.C.! 
I shall have fits in a minute.” 


110 The Jolliest School of All 

Fortunately for Delia’s nerves they were not kept 
long in durance vile. Lorna very soon discovered 
the loss of her buddy, drew Miss Morley’s atten¬ 
tion to the matter, and the whole party hastened 
back to look for them. The custodian was fetched 
from his wooden shelter and unlocked the door, 
loudly disclaiming any responsibility on his part, and 
blaming the guide. 

“It’s your own fault,” scolded Miss Morley. 
“You really must keep with the party. I can’t have 
any of you wandering off alone. You can’t expect 
me to count you every time we come out of a build¬ 
ing. I put you on your parole not to get separated 
again.” 

“We won’t indeed, indeed! We don’t like being 
lost,” promised the delinquents earnestly. 

Everybody, including the Principal, was very tired 
by this time, and not altogether sorry when the 
guide finished his tour of the ruins, and conducted 
them safely back again to the entrance. 

“It’s glorious, but you want days to see it in, in¬ 
stead of only a few hours,” sighed Phyllis. 

“And cast-iron backs and legs,” agreed Sybil. “I 
shall enjoy thinking it over when I’m home, but I’m 
ready to drop at the present moment.” 

“What about my camera?” asked Irene anx¬ 
iously. 

The guide had not forgotten it; he produced it 
from his pocket, and—perhaps in consideration of 
the tip he had received from Miss Morley—he did 


Ill 


At Pompeii 

not confiscate the spool, but handed it over intact 
with a polite gesture and a cryptic smile. 

“Grazie molto— molto!” murmured Irene, which 
meant “Thanks awfully,” and was one of the very 
few Italian phrases which she knew. 

Everybody was extremely glad to adjourn to the 
restaurant, where tea had been ordered for their 
party, and a table reserved for them. The big 
room was full of visitors and rather noisy; a band 
of musicians in the center rendered Neapolitan songs 
to an accompaniment of mandolins and guitars, and 
occasionally the audience joined the choruses. The 
performance was not of the highest quality, but it 
was tuneful and interesting to those who had not 
before heard the folk-songs of Southern Italy. 
After tea the girls made a rush to buy post-cards 
and other mementoes of Pompeii, which were on sale 
in a room next to the restaurant, and would have 
spent half an hour over their purchases had not 
Miss Morley collected her flock and insisted on a 
homeward start. Poor little Desiree slept all the 
way back in the tramcar, with her head on Stella’s 
shoulder, and most of the party were in much more 
sober spirits than when they had started. All felt, 
however, that it was a never-to-be-forgotten experi¬ 
ence. 

“I’d adore to go again sometime,” ventured 
Lorna, clasping a model of a Pompeian lamp, which 
her chum had given her for a souvenir. 

“So would I,” agreed Irene. “Miss Morley calls 




112 The Jolliest School of All 

this ‘part of our education,’ and I think it’s a very 
sensible way of teaching things. I hope she’ll take 
us to other places.” 

“You’ll get Vesuvius if your conduct sheet is all 
right.” 

“Oh, lovely! I’d rather go there than even to 
Pompeii.” 

“The same this child,” chipped in Delia. 
“Renie, I guess you and I will have to shake our¬ 
selves up and reform for a week or two. We were 
in Miss Morley’s black book to-day, and if we don’t 

take care we shall be left out of the next excur- 

• * > 
sion. 

“I’ll be an absolute saint,” promised Irene. 
“You’ll see me sprouting wings. I’m going to draw 
a physical map of the world and mark in all the 
principal volcanoes, and then show it to Miss Mor- 
ley. She’ll think it so brainy of me and be so glad 
I’m interested in the subject. She’d really feel I 
ought to see Vesuvius after that.” 

“You schemer! It’s not a bad idea though, and 
perhaps I’ll do the same, though I hate drawing 
maps. Hello! Is this the piazza? I’d no idea 
we’d got back to Fossato so soon. Yes, it’s been 
a ‘happy day,’ but I feel all I want now is supper 
and bed.” 


CHAPTER IX 

Reprisals 

It was immediately after this that Peachy, who 
was always doing imprudent things and running 
risks, went a little too far and caught a severe chill. 
She was moved into the sanatorium, a room at the 
top of the house, and spent three quite happy days 
in bed, reading books and magazines, and drinking 
hot lemonade, which was Miss Rodgers’ favorite 
remedy for a cold. When she was certified as free 
from any infection, a few of her special chums were 
allowed to visit her. She petitioned specially for 
Jess, Delia, and Irene. They found her propped 
up with pillows, and looking very charming in a pale 
pink dressing-jacket and her hair tied back with a 
broad ribbon. 

“Thanks very much. I’m sitting up and taking 
nourishment,” she grinned, in reply to their com¬ 
miserations. “I’m going to have some more fun 
before I pop off! Joking apart, I’ve had the time 
of my life here. It’s been blissful just reading and 
resting, with a big jug of lemonade at my elbow.” 

“We’ve been talking about you downstairs. 
Didn’t your ears burn?” asked Jess. 

“Not more than usual. What were you saying 
about poor little me?” 


113 




114 The Jolliest School of All 

“We had a special meeting of the Camellia Buds, 
and passed a vote of sympathy, for one thing. I 
suppose I ought to ‘convey’ it to you in the orthodox 
fashion.” 

“Highly gratified, I’m sure,” chirped Peachy. 
“How do I return thanks, please? I can’t get up in 
bed and bow. What next?” 

“Well, the next is that nobody can think of any¬ 
thing original for the Transition to do at the car¬ 
nival, and everybody said ‘Ask Peachy,’ so we’ve 
come to you for a suggestion.” 

“Whew! That’s a big order,” groaned the in¬ 
valid. “We’ve had almost every kind of stunt that’s 
practically possible. What are the seniors getting 
up this time?” 

“Something musical, to judge from the practic¬ 
ing we hear. It sounds like operetta. And the 
juniors are having a fairy play. Miss Morgan is 
teaching them. What we want is something utterly 
and entirely different.” 

“Exactly!” agreed Peachy, taking a drink of lem¬ 
onade. 

“If you don’t have a brain-throb we shall have 
to descend to an ordinary concert.” 

“Or a scene from Shakespeare.” 

“Or a tableau vivant ” 

“And those have been done simply dozens of 
times.” 

“I know,” frowned Peachy. “We had ‘The 
Trial Scene’ from The Merchant of Venice our- 


Reprisals 115 

selves last carnival. We couldn’t give the same stunt 
again. Oh, don’t bother me! Let me think. How 
can I get ideas when you’re all talking at once?” 

Peachy put her fingers in her ears and buried her 
head temporarily in the pillow, from which she ap¬ 
peared to draw inspiration, for in a few moments 
she sprang up with a bounce of rapture. 

“Got it!” she announced cheerily. “Let’s do a 
toy-shop. You shall all be dressed up as toy animals 
and be wound up to work. Oh, I see ever such 
possibilities. The seniors never had that at any 
rate.” 

“Good!” 

“It sounds prime!” 

“What a mascot you are.” 

“Don’t breathe a word outside the form,” warned 
Peachy. “I’ll plan it all out and we’ll have a re¬ 
hearsal when I’m downstairs again. I guess we’ll 
give them a surprise. Hand me my writing-pad, 
somebody, and a pencil. I want to get busy sketch¬ 
ing costumes. I can see the whole thing in my mind’s 
eye and it ought to be great.” 

Every year in the month of March the pupils at 
the Villa Camellia celebrated a carnival of their own. 
It coincided with a local festival at Fossato, on 
which occasion the inhabitants were wont to make 
merry, dressing themselves in fantastic costumes, 
parading the streets, and letting off fireworks. Orig¬ 
inally the girls had been taken to see the gay doings, 
but the town was often so rough that Miss Rodgers 


116 The Jolliest School of All 

had decided it was an unsuitable entertainment for 
young ladies, and, to prevent disappointment, made 
the happy suggestion that they should keep the fes¬ 
tival in their own grounds. So each spring the three 
divisions of the school vied with one another in pro¬ 
ducing some fresh surprise, and had a very interest¬ 
ing and amusing afternoon in the garden or gym¬ 
nasium, and were too busily occupied to feel any 
regret at being deprived of the sight of what was 
going on in Fossato. 

Canon and Mrs. Clark and a few of Miss 
Rodgers’ and Miss Morley’s friends, who lived in 
the neighborhood, were generally invited to swell 
the audience of teachers. The juniors were given a 
little assistance by their form mistresses, but the 
seniors and the Transition managed their own af¬ 
fairs. Now it was a most unfortunate circumstance 
that at present the two sororities in the Transition 
were in direct opposition. Each was, of course, 
aware of the other’s existence, but each society kept 
its own secrets. The Camellia Buds did not even 
know the name of their rival, though they could 
guess at its list of members. Peachy, recovered 
from her cold, came downstairs bubbling over with 
plans for a due celebration of the festival. She 
submitted them gleefully to the assembled girls, 
after French class. Much to her surprise about half 
of the form demurred. 

“We’re going to do something of our own,” an¬ 
nounced Bertha airily. “We don’t want your stunt.” 


Reprisals 117 

“Of our own? What d’you mean?” asked 
Peachy, her gray eyes snapping. 

“I mean what I say. Some of us have arranged 
a little private performance—we’re going to keep 
it to ourselves.” 

“And leave out the rest of us?” 

“You can have one of your own.” 

“Well, I like that!” flamed Peachy. “You’re 
dividing the form into two stunts. We’ve never 
done that before. Besides, who sent up a message 
asking me to think of something fresh and original? 
I certainly understood it was from all of you.” 

Peachy, in huge indignation, glared into several 
conscious and guilty faces, while her allies backed 
up her arguments by cries of “Shame!” Bertha 
turned rather red but bluffed the matter out. 

“We changed our minds. We can’t always do 
everything all in a lump. As I said before, we’ve 
got our own stunt, and you Camellia Buds can have 
yours.” 

Camellia Buds! If Bertha had dropped a bomb 
in the classroom she could not have caused greater 
consternation among the opposition. So the rival 
society knew the name of their sorority. A sup¬ 
pressed “O-o-h!” arose here and there. Evidently 
much enjoying their confusion Bertha and her con¬ 
federates retired, leaving the poor Camellia Buds 
to hold an indignation meeting. Everybody talked 
at once. 

“How did they find out?” 


118 The Jolliest School of All 

“Has anybody sneaked?” 

“It’s the absolute limit!” 

“I couldn’t have believed it!” 

“It gives me spasms!” 

“Of all mean things!” 

“It makes me tingle!” 

Then Jess, who was practical, made a suggestion. 

“I vote we take an oath of every member that she 
hasn’t betrayed us.” 

“ ‘O wise young judge!’ ” quoted Agnes. “That’s 
the best thing anybody’s said yet. Let’s stand round 
in a row and swear ‘Honest Injun.’ ” 

If the Camellia Buds sustained doubts of one an¬ 
other’s integrity these were absolutely dispelled by 
the fervency with which each pleaded her innocence. 

“Somebody must have been eavesdropping at one 
of our meetings, I suppose,” sighed Agnes gloomily. 
“It’s horrid to think they know our secrets and we 
don’t know theirs. I’d give worlds to get even.” 

“Where do they meet?” asked Delia. “I’ve 
never been able to find out.” 

“They’re very clever in hiding themselves.” 

“Yes, I expect they keep watch, and scoot when¬ 
ever they see one of us.” 

“That’s it, of course,” said Irene. “Well, what 
we’ve got to do is to catch them off their guard. I 
vote we get the kids to help us. They detest Bertha 
and Mabel. They’d just adore to track them for us. * 
We needn’t exactly tell them why.” 

“Good for you, Renie Beverley. Those kids will 


Reprisals 119 

do a turn for their fairy godmothers. We’ll call 
another candy party and put them on the scout. 
I’ve a box of peppermint creams that will just go 
round. One apiece ought to be enough for them 
to-day.” 

The juniors were fond of peppermints, and even 
a limited candy party was in their opinion better 
than none at all. They had never received sweets 
of any description from Bertha or Mabel; indeed 
they regarded them as arch-enemies. The idea of 
keeping a watch over their movements appealed to 
them. 

“We’ll shadow them, you bet!” grinned little 
Jean Hammond. “There isn’t much going on in 
the school that we don’t know.” 

“I’m afraid there isn’t. You’re rather imps. But 
you’ll be doing a good deed if you find this out for 
us. The first who brings news shall have two 
chocolates.” 

The Camellia Buds felt no more compunction in 
employing the juniors on this quest than a govern¬ 
ment that organizes a secret service department. 
The enemy had betrayed them shamelessly and de¬ 
served reprisals. It was Desiree after all who won 
the chocolates. She haunted house and garden with 
the persistency of a small ghost, and at last proudly 
made the announcement: 

“They’ve called a meeting by the big Greek jar 
to-day at five. I heard Ruth tell Callie. What are 
you going to do about it?” 




120 The Jolliest School of All 

That was exactly the question which puzzled the 
Camellia Buds. It was one thing to obtain informa¬ 
tion and quite another to act upon it. If they went 
and interrupted the rival meeting they would have 
the satisfaction of routing the enemy but would be 
none the wiser. It was Peachy’s diplomacy that 
pointed out a way. 

“The Greek vase!” she said meditatively. “Yes, 
it’s enormously big and I think I can manage it. 
Now, my dearies, don’t you want to be real philan¬ 
thropic this afternoon and give up your turns at the 
tennis courts to other folks? Why? Because I’ve 
a little scheme on hand. I want to keep those girls 
well away from the lemon pergola until it’s time for 
their precious meeting. Then they’ll run up all 
unsuspecting, poor innocents, and find-” 

“What will they find?” 

“‘A chiel amang them takin’ notes!’” chuckled 
Peachy. “In other words yours truly will be hiding 
inside the big jar.” 

“Peachy! You can’t!” 

“Can’t I? Great Scott! Do you think I’m going 
to let this beat me? You can just bet your last 
nickel I shall. Renie and Jess shall help to hide me, 
and the rest of you must watch the coast’s clear till 
I’m safely inside. I tell you I’m crazy to try it. 
It’ll be the frolic of my life.” 

There was certainly no plan too madcap for 
Peachy to undertake. She revelled in anything ven¬ 
turesome or bizarre. The Camellia Buds did as she 



Reprisals 121 

decreed, and resigned the courts that afternoon to 
Bertha, Mabel, Elsie, Ruth, Rosamonde, Winnie, 
Monica, and Callie, who fell readily into the trap 
prepared for them. Leaving this double set busy 
at tennis they fled to the opposite end of the 
garden. 

The lemon pergola was a sheltered walk that led 
down a flight of marble steps to a small fountain. 
There was a shady nook here with bushes of bam¬ 
boo, and a tree with a sweet flower like honeysuckle, 
and little red roses, and a border of Parma violets, 
and a seat made of bright green tiles—altogether a 
very retired and pleasant and suitable spot in which 
to hold a committee meeting. Exactly behind the 
seat stood an enormous jar of terra-cotta, colored 
red, and decorated with Greek figures in black sil¬ 
houette, rather blurred and rubbed off, but still dis¬ 
tinguishable. No doubt its original use had been 
to store water, wine, or olive-oil, but nowadays it 
was merely an ornament to the garden. A plant 
pot full of scarlet geraniums rested on its head, and 
an arbutula twined up the sides. 

Peachy climbed up the bank behind, and with the 
help of Jess removed the pot of scarlet geraniums; 
then very cautiously and carefully she let herself 
down inside the jar. It was just big enough to con¬ 
tain her, and she lay concealed like one of the forty 
thieves in the story of Ali Baba. She had one ad¬ 
vantage, however, over the famous brigands. There 
was a little round hole broken in the front of the 


122 The Jolliest School of All 

jar, and by putting her eye to this she had an ex¬ 
cellent view of her surroundings. 

“Are you all right?” asked Irene anxiously. 

“Fixed splendidly, thanks. Stick that flower-pot 
back on the top and nobody’ll ever guess I’m inside. 
Now scoot, quick, for it won’t do for them to see 
you haunting round. The place must look absolutely 
innocent when they arrive.” 

“We won’t go too far. Shout for us if you get 
so you can’t bear it any longer,” said Jess, putting 
the geraniums on like a stopper, and dragging Irene 
away. 

Peachy’s position was certainly not one of com¬ 
fort, squatting at the bottom of the great jar, and 
she was relieved that she had not long to wait before 
the rival sorority arrived to hold its meeting. The 
girls came scurrying, flushed after their games of 
tennis, and flung themselves down, some on the mar¬ 
ble steps and some on the tiled seat. Bertha, as 
the Camellia Buds had suspected, was evidently the 
high priestess, and opened the ceremony without 
delay. 

“Members of the Starry Circle,” she began hur¬ 
riedly, “repeat your oath.” 

“We vow to be loyal to one another and to our 
President, and never to reveal the secrets of our 
society,” recited seven voices in reply. 

(“Aha!” chuckled Peachy to herself, in the depths 
of the gigantic jar. “Got the name of your precious 
sorority slap-bang off!”) 



Reprisals 123 

“We’ve met together this afternoon,” continued 
Bertha, “to settle finally what parts we’re going to 
take at the carnival. Ruth, just look round, please, 
and be sure none of those wretched Camellia Buds 
is anywhere about.” 

Bertha paused, while Ruth made a tour among the 
bushes, and seemed slightly puzzled when the latter 
reported: 

“Coast clear.” 

“It’s a funny thing,” commented the President, 
“but I declare I can smell that particular strong lily- 
of-the-valley scent that Peachy is so fond of. I sup¬ 
pose it’s only fancy?” 

“I can smell it too,” confirmed Elsie, sniffing the 
air. 

“Are there any lilies-of-the-valley out anywhere 
near?” asked Mabel. 

“No, it’s too early for them.” 

“Then somebody else must have the same scent, 
or have picked up Peachy’s moucholr by mistake.” 

A general examination of handkerchiefs followed, 
but each girl disclaimed all responsibility for the 
delicate odor. 

“Queer! I can’t understand it. However, let’s 
get to business. Our waxworks are absolutely go¬ 
ing to take the shine out of their stupid old toy-shop. 
The only trouble is how we’re going to get hold of 
the right costumes. There’s Queen Elizabeth now 
—I can manage her skirt, but I want something for 
her farthingale. What can we raise?” 


124 The Jolliest School of All 

“Peachy has a lovely flowered silk dressing-gown,’’ 
remarked Mabel. “It would be just the thing.” 

“Suppose she uses it herself though.” 

“I won’t give her a chance. I’ll take it out of 
her cubicle the night before and hide it.” 

“O-o-h! You will! Will you?” exploded a voice 
from the interior of the Greek jar. “We’ll just see 
about that.” 

The fact was that Peachy’s crouching position had 
grown intolerable. She was bound to move and 
reveal herself, and her indignation at Mabel’s cool 
suggestion flamed forth through the peep-hole. 

The Circle sprang up in much alarm, and some of 
them squealed as the pot of geraniums fell with a 
crash from the top of the big jar, and Peachy’s 
pink face and fluffy hair appeared instead. Her 
flashing gray eyes certainly held no love light in 
them. 

“You mean things!” raged Peachy. “Call your¬ 
selves stars, do you? I can’t see anything very star- 
like about you. Have your old waxworks if you 
like, but I can tell you beforehand you won’t take 
the shine out of us. You’ve copied my idea shame¬ 
lessly, and if you’re going to steal our properties too 
—yes, you may well scoot. Don’t ever dare to 
show your faces to me again.” 

For the members of the Starry Circle had broken 
up their meeting, and were running away down the 
lemon pergola in the direction of the house, im¬ 
mensely upset to find there had been a secret listener 


Reprisals 125 

in their midst. Once they were out of sight Peachy 
cooeed for Jess and Irene, who appeared bursting 
with laughter and demanding details, having wit¬ 
nessed the rout of the enemy from a distance. 

“I’ll tell you presently if you’ll help me climb out 
of this wretched thing,” said Peachy, who found it 
a far more difficult matter to extricate herself from 
the jar than it had been to drop into it. “How’m 
I going to manage? Oh, don’t pull my arms so, you 
hurt!” 

It was indeed somewhat of a problem, and Peachy 
was beginning to feel seriously alarmed, when, for¬ 
tunately, one of the gardeners came to the rescue, 
and tilted the jar over so as to allow her to crawl 
out. 

“I feel like a released Slave of the Lamp, or a 
freed dryad, or something fairy-taley or mytholog¬ 
ical,” she declared. “It was worth it, though, to 
see those girls’ faces. Thank you, Giovanni! I’m 
ever so much obliged. Sorry if Lve spoilt your bed 
of violets. Is that Delia calling us? Coming, 
dearie. Where are the rest of the Camellia Buds? 
I may as well tell my story to the whole bunch of 
you together. Then you’ll see the sort of thing 
we’re up against. They’ve taken our idea, and 
they’re trying to beat us on our own ground. That’s 
what it’s all about.” 


CHAPTER X 

The School Carnival 

The Camellia Buds considered that they possessed 
a real grievance. The difference between an ani¬ 
mated toy-shop and waxworks was so slight as to be 
immaterial. In both the figures would require to 
be wound up, after which they would perform vari¬ 
ous antics. The idea had certainly originated with 
Peachy, and the Starry Circle had merely copied it. 
Their stunt was in fact a shameless plagiarism. 

“Why couldn’t they have joined with us and we’d 
have done the toy-shop all together?” demanded 
Agnes crossly. 

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just their perversity. 
It’ll look so stupid to have two separate shows. 
Whichever comes last will seem so stale after the 
other.” 

“Why, of course, ours will come first! It 
must!” 

“There’ll be a fight for it.” 

“We can’t squabble at the carnival with Miss 
Rodgers and Miss Morley looking on. We’d better 
have our battle beforehand and get it over.” 

“Tell the Stars we mean to have first innings?” 

“They’ll never agree!” 


126 


127 


The School Carnival 

“Look here, it’s no use coming to open war with 
them. I vote we try diplomacy. Has anybody 
thought of the programs yet?” 

“I heard the seniors groaning over having to 
paint covers for them.” 

“Well, let’s go to them privately and volunteer 
to help. Then we shall have the opportunity of tell¬ 
ing them that the Transition stunt is to be in two 
divisions, and that Part I will be taken by our¬ 
selves.” 

“Quite a brain-throb!” 

“Renie, I’m beginning to admire you!” 

“Peachy can paint beautifully!” 

“So can Joan and Esther. Shall I go and say we 
offer to do six programs? Right-o! Come with 
me, Peachy. You’re our champion wheedler.” 

The two delegates started at once on their diplo¬ 
matic mission. They felt indeed that there was no 
time to be lost. They found several of the prefects 
collected in Rachel’s bedroom, where possibly they 
were having a little private candy party, for there 
were sounds of a rustling of paper and a shutting 
of drawers before they were granted permission to 
enter the precincts. The Transition girls always 
envied the seniors’ rooms. These were on the sea¬ 
ward side of the house, and their balcony had glori¬ 
ous views over the bay and the surrounding coast. 
The decorations were very tasteful. The walls were 
gray, with a stenciled frieze of hydrangeas, and 
there were soft-shaded Indian rugs on the polished 


128 The Jolliest School of All 

wood floor. Rachel and her roommates had pro¬ 
vided their own luxuries in the way of pretty cush¬ 
ions, table-covers, pictures, and flower-vases, and 
the general effect was of harmonious comfort. 

“Well? What can I do for you?” inquired the 
head girl briefly, as Stella admitted the diplomats. 

It was not a very encouraging reception. Possi¬ 
bly the prefects were annoyed at being disturbed in 
the midst of what they were doing. 

Peachy, however, ignored Rachel’s tone, and put¬ 
ting on her most winning smile inquired: 

“We wonder if you’re painting any program cov¬ 
ers for the carnival?” 

Rachel lolled back in her chair and retied the bow 
that terminated her long dark pigtail. 

“Perhaps we are and perhaps we aren’t,” was her 
somewhat cryptic reply. 

“The matter’s in our hands entirely, of course,” 
cooed Sybil, rocking to and fro on a cane sedia. 

“I know,” put in Irene, trying to be tactful. “We 
only thought that perhaps you might care to have a 
little help. Some of us would be ready to paint a 
few if you like.” 

This put a different complexion on the case. The 
seniors, always bristling for their privileges, resented 
idle curiosity—on the part of the Transition. But 
an offer of help was another matter. 

“There certainly is a great number to be done,” 
said Erica, with a beseeching look at Rachel. 

The head girl thawed a little. 


The School Carnival 129 

“Well, we shouldn’t mind your taking a few off 
our hands,” she conceded. “Half a dozen? Sybil, 
will you get those programs out of my drawer? Put 
anything you like on them—flowers, birds, figures, 
or landscapes. I’ll lend you this to copy the print¬ 
ing from. Let me have them by Thursday if you 
can.” 

Rachel glanced meaningly at the door, as if she 
considered the interview might now with decency 
come to an end. Neither Peachy nor Irene took the 
hint, however. The main object of their mission 
had not yet been broached. 

“You’ve not written the program inside yet,” com¬ 
mented Peachy, opening one of the covers. 

“We’ll do that later.” 

“Shall we copy some for you?” 

“Oh, no, thanks!” 

Then Irene, growing desperate, blurted out what 
they had really come to say. 

“The Transition stunt is to be in two parts this 
time. Bertha and Mabel are arranging one, and 
Peachy is getting up another. Do you mind putting 
ours down to come first?” 

“Sorry, but I’m afraid it can’t be done,” yawned 
Rachel. “Bertha has been up and bagged first inn¬ 
ings. I wrote it down, didn’t I, Stella? Where’s 
that list? Yes, here we are. The juniors are to 
come first, because Miss Morgan has trained them 
and she thinks they’ll get the fidgets if they wait, 
and it’s better to have their performance over. 


130 The Jolliest School of All 

Then, of course, comes our stunt, and then the 
Transition.” 

“Could we possibly have our half of the Transi¬ 
tion stunt before yours? It would make more 
variety.” 

“Most certainly not!” 

Rachel’s brow was puckered in a frown, and Sybil, 
from the depths of the rocking-chair, murmured, 
“Cheek!” 

“We’ve got the program all fixed up, and we’re 
not going to change it for anybody,” chirped Erica. 

“Any one who isn’t satisfied needn’t act,” en¬ 
dorsed Rachel, with such a very decided glance at 
the door that the two delegates could no longer ob¬ 
trude their presence, and were obliged to beat an 
unwilling retreat. 

They walked along the passage very dissatisfied 
with the result of their mission. 

“We’ve got all the fag of painting these wretched 
programs, and gained nothing at all,” groused Irene. 

“They might have told us first about Bertha. 
Isn’t she an absolute Jacob—supplanting us like 
this?” 

“Those seniors are most unsympathetic. I want 
to go back and tell Rachel what I think of her.” 

“She’d only say, ‘How foreign’ if you got excited. 
And it wouldn’t be an atom of use either.” 

“They’ve taken the best place in the program for 
their stunt.” 

“Trust the prefects to do that.” 


131 


The School Carnival 

“What’s to be done about it?” 

“It will need some thinking over.” 

Peachy’s agile brains were rarely to be beaten. 
She slept upon the problem, and informed her 
friends afterwards that inspiration came to her at 
exactly 3 a.m. 

“I know, because I heard the convent clock strike. 
I sat up in bed and laughed. I wonder I didn’t 
wake the dormitory, but nobody stirred a finger. 
Listen, and I’ll explain. The situation at present is 
this: Bertha and her Starry Circle have cribbaged 
our idea and forestalled us on the program, and are 
going to act their wretched waxworks first, and are 
congratulating themselves that their piece will take 
the shine out of ours.” 

“So it will, I’m afraid. The audience will have 
sat through the juniors’ play, the seniors’ stunt, and 
the waxworks. They’ll be bored stiff to see our toy¬ 
shop straight away afterwards.” 

“Well, they shan't see it. That’s my idea. Let’s 
drop the toy-shop and do something quite different.” 

“Drop our toy-shop ! O-o-h!” 

“We’ll do it some other time. But you see we’ve 
one advantage on the program at any rate. We 
come last.” 

“That’s what we’re raving against.” 

“I know! But if you think of it, it’s a great op¬ 
portunity. Suppose we do a splendid finishing 
tableau instead of animated toys? It would make a 
magnificent wind-up, and would be a surprise for 


132 The Jolliest School of All 

everybody. Think of the amazement of the Starry 
Circle, when they’re expecting us to do a pale copy 
of their own stunt, to see us posed as a tableau, and 
everybody clapping the roof off.” 

“It would be rather sporty.” 

“Only I did so want to dress up as a kangaroo,” 
mourned Joan dolefully. 

“You shall be Australia instead, and you’ll look 
far nicer. I’ll guarantee to make you ever so pretty. 
It’s to be an Anglo-American pageant, to symbolize 
the school. We’ll have Columbia and Britannia and 
all her colonies, in a sort of entente cordiale. You’ll 
see it will please Miss Morley and Miss Rodgers 
no end. That Starry Circle will be just aching with 
envy. They’ll wish they’d been in it. It will abso¬ 
lutely take the wind out of their sails and lay them 
flat.” 

“Peachy Proctor, there’s a spice of genius in your 
composition,” said Jess admiringly. “I could never 
have thought of that myself.” 

“Oh, fiddlesticks! Glad you approve though. 
Now what we’ve got to do is to hustle up and get 
busy over costumes. They’ll take some contriving. 
Hide all your best things away from the Stars, or 
they’ll be commandeering them. Mabel has no con¬ 
science. And be careful that not the least teeny- 
weeny hint leaks out. Let’s talk openly about the 
toy-shop, and pretend we’re still going on practicing 
for it. It will be all the bigger sell for them when 
they find out.” 


133 


The School Carnival 

The Camellia Buds, having undertaken to paint 
six program covers, nobly did their duty and finished 
them in the prescribed time. Lorna offered to take 
them to Rachel’s room, and met with quite a gracious 
reception from the head girl. So much so that she 
ventured to put forward a suggestion of her own. 

“May Part I of the Transition stunt have a time 
limit?” she asked. “We want to have some idea 
when we’re to come on.” 

“Certainly,” agreed Rachel. “We can’t let Part I 
go on ad infinitum. I hadn’t thought of that. I 
shall tell Bertha she may have ten minutes and no 
longer. I shall ring the curtain bell if she exceeds. 
I see your point entirely. It’s only fair.” 

“I was afraid if it was getting near tea-time the 
audience mightn’t want to stay.” 

“Exactly. I’ll take care your stunt isn’t crowded 
out. Trust that to me. I’m not head girl here for 
nothing. And I’m not entirely blind either. My 
advice is to look after yourselves.” 

Lorna returned to the Camellia Buds feeling she 
had considerably scored over the Stars. Her previ¬ 
ous acquaintance with school theatricals had taught 
her that audiences are human, that even teachers will 
not sit through too lengthy a performance, and that 
the lure of tea cannot be resisted by those who are 
accustomed to drink it daily at 4 p.m. As their own 
dormitory was half in possession of the enemy, Irene 
and Lorna adjourned to Peachy’s bedroom to make 
preparations for their costumes, and held cosy sew- 


134 The Jolliest School of All 

ing-bees in company with Delia, Jess, Mary, and 
any other chums who were able to join them. They 
kept their properties safely locked up inside one of 
the wardrobes in No. 13, and Peachy wore the key 
tied under her skirt with a piece of ribbon. 

“Because you can’t trust that sneaking Mabel not 
to come in and poke about,” she explained grimly. 
“I know she wants my dressing-gown.” 

“We shall have to gallop with our costumes if 
we’re to make anything of a show,” said Sheila, hast¬ 
ily running seams in a creation of scarlet and blue, 
destined to clothe Canada. 

“I know, but we’ll wear them even if they’ve got 
raw edges and are fastened together with pins. I 
don’t suppose the audience will be near enough to 
see the stitches. I hope not, at any rate. Mine are 
absolute cats’ cradles.” 

By the day of the festival, however, the Camellia 
Buds were exactly ready. They had kept their se¬ 
cret strictly, and flattered themselves that their 
rivals the Stars were in complete ignorance of their 
change of program. The acting was to be in the 
gymnasium, not in the garden, for a sirocco wind 
was blowing and the overcast sky promised rain. It 
was a pity, for the pergola would have made such a 
beautiful background, and some enthusiasts even peti¬ 
tioned Miss Morley to keep to her original plan. 

“And have you all wet through, and the guests 
shivering with cold?” she replied. “No, indeed! 
Be thankful we have such a large room as the gym 


The School Carnival 135 

to act in. Otherwise the fete would have been put 
off altogether.” 

The girls were allowed, however, to decorate the 
platform with flowers, and to hang up Chinese lan¬ 
terns so as to give a festive appearance to the scene. 
The performers donned their costumes in good time, 
but wore waterproofs over them to conceal them. 
They wished to witness each other’s stunts, yet did 
not want to reveal their own secrets too soon. 
There was quite a good audience assembled in the 
gymnasium. Miss Rodgers and Miss Morley had 
sent out many invitations, and some parents and 
friends had come over from Naples to combine a 
peep at the celebrated Fossato festival with a visit 
to the school. Irene’s cup of joy was full when, to 
her utter amazement, she saw her own father, 
mother, and brother walk into the room. 

“Well! You are a surprise package,” she ex¬ 
claimed, greeting them gleefully. “Why didn’t you 
write and tell me you were coming?” 

“We didn’t know ourselves,” said Vincent. “We 
never thought we could manage to get off, and we 
didn’t want to disappoint you. When does your 
stunt come on?” 

“Not till the end, so I can sit with you most of 
the time. Oh! It’s simply too good to have you all 
turn up like this. Mother darling, there’s a chair 
for you here, and I’ll be in the middle between you 
and Daddy.” 

The entertainment began with a fairy play acted 


136 The Jolliest School of All 

by the juniors. They looked very pretty in their 
gauzy garments, and little Desiree, in a gossamer 
robe of elfin green, made an attractive queen, so 
dainty and ethereal that the audience almost ex¬ 
pected to see through her. “What a sweet child!” 
was the general comment, as she tripped back in re¬ 
sponse to a storm of clapping, to give an encore to 
her “Moonbeam Song.” 

The juniors retired, having covered themselves 
with glory, greatly to the satisfaction of Miss Mor¬ 
gan, who had spent much time in training them for 
their performance. 

It was now the turn of the seniors. They had got 
up an operetta of Robin Hood, and appeared clad 
in the orthodox foresters’ costume of Lincoln green, 
with bows, arrows, and quivers. Stella, as Maid 
Marian, and Phyllis, as the Curtle Friar, were es¬ 
pecial successes; while Will Scarlett and Little John 
gave a noble display of fencing with quarter-staves, 
a part of the program which they had practiced in 
secrecy, under the instruction of the gymnastic mis¬ 
tress, and now presented as a complete surprise to 
the school. Their acting was so spirited that every¬ 
body was quite sorry when the short piece was 
ended, and would have liked certain scenes repeated, 
had not Miss Morley pointed to her watch and 
shaken her head emphatically to forbid further en¬ 
cores. Past experience had warned her not to allow 
one section of the school to monopolize an undue 
share of the time to the exclusion of others. 


137 


The School Carnival 

“It’s the turn of the Transition now,” she said. 
“We shall only just work through our program by 
half past four.” 

Even the Camellia Buds, though they watched 
with jaundiced eyes, could not deny that the members 
of the Starry Circle managed their waxworks very 
creditably. Elsie indeed, as Madame de Pompadour, 
was not convincing, but Mabel made a distinguished 
Sir Walter Raleigh, and Bertha surpassed herself as 
Queen Elizabeth. The rival sorority, after witness¬ 
ing this triumph, was more and more thankful to 
have abandoned the idea of acting an animated toy¬ 
shop. It would certainly have seemed tame to con¬ 
tinue on the same lines as the prior performance. 
As it was they chuckled with satisfaction behind the 
curtain, while they arranged themselves for the 
tableau. 

“I guess it will make them sit up,” purred Peachy, 
setting a curl straight with the aid of her pocket- 
mirror. “It will be frightfully hard to keep still, for 
I shall just want to stare round and see their faces, 
but don’t alarm yourselves. I promise not to give 
so much as a blink. I wouldn’t disgrace our stunt 
for the world. I’ll be a rigid marble statue till the 
curtain drops.” 

“Sh! sh! Don’t chatter so much,” warned Jess. 
“Aren’t you ready yet? Miss Morley’s getting im¬ 
patient.” 

“It’s nearly half past four, and I expect every¬ 
body is longing for tea,” put in Irene. 


138 The Jolliest School of All 

“They’ll have to wait for it till we’ve done our 
stunt We’re not going to be left out,” said Peachy, 
hurriedly taking her pose. 

The allegorical scene in which the girls were 
grouped presented a pretty picture as the curtain 
rose. 

In the center Agnes and Delia, dressed as Britan¬ 
nia and Columbia, supported the Union Jack and the 
Stars and Strips together with a bunch of camellias 
as a delicate compliment to the school; Jess, in plaid 
and tam-o’-shanter, stood for her native Scotland; 
Peachy, with fringed leather leggings and cowboy’s 
hat, was a ranch-girl; Joan in a somewhat similar 
costume represented “the bush” in Australia; Sheila 
in a white coat trimmed plentifully with cotton wool 
made a pretty Canada; Irene was an Irish colleen; 
Mary, with bunches of mimosa, typified South 
Africa; and Esther, gorgeous in Oriental drapery 
and numerous necklaces, was an Indian princess. 
But perhaps the most successful costume of all was 
Lorna’s. She had been chosen to take the char¬ 
acter of New Zealand, and was dressed in a pale 
yellow wrapper decorated with beautiful sprays of 
tinted leaves. Round her head was a garland of 
orange blossoms, and in her arms she held great 
branches of oranges and lemons, to typify the fruits 
of the country she was impersonating. With 
Lorna’s dark eyes and hair the effect was most strik¬ 
ing. She kept her pose admirably, scarcely blinking 
an eyelid, though Mary palpably moved, and even 


The School Carnival 139 

Joan was guilty of a smile. The audience, im¬ 
mensely surprised and pleased with the tableau, 
clapped enthusiastically. It was felt to be a very 
fitting finish to the festival. 

“You kept your secret well, girls,” said Miss 
Morley, as she congratulated them afterwards. 
“I’m sure nobody had the least hint. It was charm- 
ingly thought out and arranged. Come along now 
and have some tea. It has really been a most suc¬ 
cessful afternoon.” 

Audience and performers, the latter in all the 
glory of their pretty costumes, mingled together now 
for conversation and tea-drinking. Irene quickly 
joined her family, and had much to say to them, and 
many questions to ask about their doings in Naples. 

“I say, Renie,” whispered Vincent, suddenly in¬ 
terrupting her, “tell me who’s that lovely girl? 
She looked the best in the whole of your tableau.” 

Irene followed his glance to the yellow-clad figure 
handing the teacups which Miss Morley was filling. 

“That’s Lorna. One of my best chums. Yes, that 
costume suits her. I want to bring her to speak to 
Mother. Yes, Lorna, you must come. I simply 
shan’t let you run away. Mummie darling, this is 
Lorna. We room together, you know.” 

Lorna, dragged forward much against her will to 
be introduced, stood shy and blushing, but her 
heightened color and evident confusion added to her 
attraction, and several heads were turned to glance 
at her among the guests in that quarter of the room. 


140 The Jolliest School of All 

It was not until this occasion of the carnival that any 
one at the Villa Camellia had recognized Lorna as 
a budding beauty. 

“You ought always to wear yellow,” Peachy said 
to her afterwards. “It’s quite your color. By the 
by, who chooses your clothes for you?” 

“Miss Rodgers generally takes me to Naples and 
buys them.” 

“She’s no taste. Her ideas run to a gym suit and 
a school panama and nothing beyond. I’ll give you 
a tip. Next time you need an evening dress or a 
Sunday jumper, engineer it so Miss Morley does the 
shopping. She’ll get you something pretty, I’ll guar¬ 
antee. She chose that blue crepe de chine for Delia. 
Don’t forget. And don’t look so fearfully surprised. 
If you haven’t thought about your clothes before it’s 
time you did. My dear, you’ll pay dressing. Come 
close and I’ll whisper to you: some of those Stars 
are just too jealous of you for words. I’m tickled 
to bits.” 


CHAPTER XI 

Up Vesuvius 

On a certain day towards the end of March, Miss 
Morley, who usually acted as cicerone and general 
guide, arranged to take a select little party up Vesu¬ 
vius. Irene, Lorna, Peachy, and Delia were among 
the favored few, and congratulated themselves ex¬ 
ceedingly. It is certainly not an every-day occur¬ 
rence for schoolgirls to view a volcano, and this par¬ 
ticular excursion, being long and difficult, was kept 
as a special treat, and was regarded as the titbit of 
the various expeditions from the Villa Camellia. 
Many of the girls had, of course, made it on former 
occasions, but to those whom Miss Morley was es¬ 
corting to-day it was all new. 

U I was to have gone last autumn,” confided 
Peachy, “but the fact is I got into a little fix with 
Miss Rodgers, and she started on the rampage and 
canceled my exeat. I cried till I was simply a sop¬ 
ping sponge, but she was a perfect crab that day. 
Lorna, weren’t you to have gone too once before?” 

“Yes, and got toothache. Just like my luck. 
There the others were starting off, and I was sitting 
by the stove with a swollen face, dabbing on bella¬ 
donna, and Miss Rodgers careering round telling 

141 


142 The Jolliest School of All 

me I must have it out. Ugh! My ailments always 
turn up when I’m going anywhere.” 

“Well, you’re all right to-day at any rate,” con¬ 
soled Delia, rather unsympathetically. 

“If I don’t get seasick on the boat.” 

“Oh, buck up! You mustn’t. We’ll throw you 
overboard to the fishes if you do anything so silly. 
For goodness’ sake don’t any one start symptoms 
and spoil the fun. Where’s Miss Morley? I’m 
just aching to be off.” 

The party left Fossato by the early morning 
steamer and went straight to Naples. They drove 
from the quay to the station, then took the little 
local train for Vesuvius. Italian railways generally 
provide scant accommodation for the number of pas¬ 
sengers, so there ensued a wild scramble for seats, 
and it was only by the help of the conductor, whom 
she had judiciously tipped, that Miss Morley man¬ 
aged to keep her flock together, and settle them in 
one of the small saloon carriages. Here they were 
wedged pretty tightly among native Italians, and 
tourists of various nations, including some voluble 
Swedes and a company of dapper Japanese gentle¬ 
men, who were seeing Europe. After much pushing, 
crowding, shouting, and gesticulation on the part of 
both the public and officials, the train at last started 
and pursued its jolting and jerky way. It ran first 
through the poorer district of Naples, where dilapi¬ 
dated houses, whose faded walls showed traces of 
former gay pink, blue, or yellow color-wash, stood 


143 


Up Vesuvius 

in the midst of vegetable gardens; then, the slums 
left behind, the line passed a long way among vine¬ 
yards and orchards of almond, peach, and cherry 
that were just bursting into glorious lacy blossom. 
The railway banks were gay with the flowers which 
March scatters in Southern Italy, red poppies, 
orange marigolds, lupins, campanulas, purple snap¬ 
dragons, and wild mignonette, growing anywhere 
among stones and rocks, with the luxuriance that in 
northern countries is reserved for June. 

At Torre Annunziata the party from the Villa 
Camellia all crowded to the carriage window, for 
Miss Morley had something to point out to them. 

“We’re passing over the lava formed by the great 
eruption in 1906. The whole of the railway line 
and ever so many houses were buried then. Don’t 
you see bits of them peeping out over there?” 

“Why, yes, it looks like cinders,” commented 
Lorna. 

“They’re great masses of crumbling lava turning 
into soil. Wait till we get farther on, then you’ll see 
lava more in its raw stage. Very soon we shall be 
passing over the top of Herculaneum. The ancient 
city lies buried thirty feet below the surface.” 

“Aren’t they ever going to excavate it like they did 
Pompeii ?” 

“The trouble is that the modern town of Pugliano 
is built over the top, and naturally the owners don’t 
want their houses pulled down, whatever treasures in 
the way of Greek or Roman antiquities may lie 


144 The jolliest School of All 

buried underneath. Isn’t the view of the Bay of 
Naples beautiful from here?” 

“Yes, and the flowers. It’s like fairyland.” 

At Pugliano the party left the train, and after a 
long and tiresome wait at the station changed to 
the light electric railway that was to take them up 
Vesuvius. The little carriage resembled a tramcar, 
and its wide glass windows afforded excellent views 
of the scenery en route. Up—up—up they went, 
gradually getting higher and higher. It was marvel¬ 
ous how the vegetation altered as they ascended. 
The cactuses, olives, almonds, and peach orchards 
gave way to hillsides covered with small chestnut, 
oak, or poplar trees, and the poppies and daisies 
were succeeded by broom bushes and clumps of rose¬ 
mary. They were getting on to the region of the 
lava, and all the ground was brown, like newly 
turned peat. Men were busy digging terraces in 
the volcanic earth, to plant vines, working calmly as 
if the great cone above them had never belched forth 
fire and ashes. 

“How dare they live here?” shuddered Peachy, 
pointing to the tiny dwellings which had been reared 
here and there. “When they see all the ruin round 
them, aren’t they afraid? What makes them go 
back?” 

“The ground is so rich,” explained Miss Morley. 
“Nothing grows vines so splendidly as volcanic earth. 
The people get fatalistic, and think it worth risking 
their lives to have these fruitful little farms. They 


145 


Up Vesuvius 

say the mountain may not be angry again for years, 
and they will take their chance.” 

“It’s smoking now,” said Lorna. 

U I suppose it’s safe?” asked Delia anxiously. 

“Perfectly safe to-day or we shouldn’t have been 
allowed to go up in the electric railway. Do you see 
that big building—the observatory? Careful inves¬ 
tigations are made every day of the crater, and the 
results telegraphed down to Naples. If there were 
the slightest hint of danger the trains would be 
stopped and tourists turned back.” 

The journey was ever upwards, over great wastes 
of rough brown lava, which looked as if some giant, 
in play, had squeezed out the contents of enormous 
tubes of oil paint on to the mighty palette of the 
mountain side. The air had grown fresh and cold, 
for they were at an altitude approaching 4000 feet, 
and, but for the scenery, might have imagined them¬ 
selves in Wales or Scotland. 

The light railway ended at a small station, where 
there was the observatory and a hotel. All round 
were masses of enormous cinders, and above, a grim 
sight, towered the immense cone of Vesuvius. To 
scale the tremendous incline to the summit there was 
a funicular railway, to which our party now trans¬ 
ferred themselves, sitting on seats raised one above 
another as in the gallery of a theater. It was here 
that, if the events of the day are to be truly chron¬ 
icled, we must record a scrimmage between Irene 
and her chum, Peachy. The conductor of the light 


146 The Jolliest School of All 

railway had gathered a bunch of rosemary en route, 
and he now approached the funicular and bestowed 
his offering upon Peachy, who happened to be sitting 
nearest to the end. She was immensely gratified at 
the attention, sniffed the fragrant nosegay, and 
handed it on for admiration to Lorna, who, after 
also burying her nose in it, passed it to Irene. The 
latter ought to have realized it was not her own 
property, but unfortunately didn’t. She calmly ap¬ 
propriated the bunch, and distributed it in portions 
to those nearest her. Peachy’s cheeks flamed. She 
was a hot-tempered little soul underneath her gay 
banter. 

“Well! Of all cool cheek,” she exploded. “That 
was my bouquet. It was given to me, not to you, 
Renie Beverley. Next time you start being charitable 
use your own flowers, not mine. You haven’t left 
me a single piece.” 

“I’m sorry,” blushed Irene, trying to collect some 
portion at least of her offerings to hand back to the 
lawful owner. “I thought they were given to me.” 

“No, you didn’t, you simply bagged them,” 
snapped Peachy. “I’m not friends with you, so 
don’t talk to me any more,” and Peachy turned a 
red offended face out of the carriage window. 

Irene might have apologized further, but the fu¬ 
nicular gave a mighty jerk at that moment, and the 
carriage started. Up—up went the little train, 
working on wire ropes like a bucket coming out 
of a well. Higher and higher and higher it rose up 


147 


Up Vesuvius 

the terrific incline, over masses of cinders, towards 
the thick cloud of smoke that loomed above. It 
stopped at last at a big iron gate, which opened to 
admit the passengers on to the summit. Here the 
guides were waiting, and after some parleying in 
Italian, Miss Morley engaged a couple of them to 
escort her party. Led by these men, who knew every 
inch of the way, they started to walk to the crater of 
the volcano. A cinder path had been made along 
the edge of the cone, having on the left side a steep 
ridge of ashes, and on the right a sheer drop of 
many thousand feet. From this strange road there 
were weird and beautiful effects—for it was above 
the region of the clouds, which floated below, some¬ 
times hiding the landscape, and sometimes revealing 
glorious stretches of country, with gleams of sun¬ 
shine falling on the white houses of towns miles be¬ 
low, and blue reaches of sea with mountains beyond. 
Great volumes of smoke kept coming down from the 
summit, and blowing in a dense cloud, then clearing 
for a few minutes and forming again. There were 
booming sounds like the firing of cannons that 
seemed to issue from the smoke. 

Very much awed by these impressive surround¬ 
ings the party kept close together. The guides, in 
their gray uniforms and caps with red bands, were a 
comforting feature of the excursion. But for their 
encouragement the girls would have been too much 
scared to proceed. Delia was clinging to Peachy, 
and Lorna held Irene’s arm tightly. Miss Morley, 


148 The Jolliest School of All 

who had been before, kept assuring everybody that 
there was no danger, and after a few minutes they 
grew sufficiently accustomed to the scene to thor¬ 
oughly enjoy the magnificent effects of the clouds cir¬ 
cling below them. But the guides were calling 
“Haste,” for the mist was clearing, and it would be 
possible to get a view of the crater. They all scur¬ 
ried along the path, and suddenly to the left, instead 
of the high ridge of cinders, they could look down 
into a deep rocky ravine. From this hollow vapors 
were rising as from a witch’s cauldron, but every 
now and then the wind dispersed them as if lifting a 
veil, revealing a glimpse of the crater. At the bot¬ 
tom of the ravine stood a great cone, from the 
mouth of which poured dense clouds of smoke, and 
between the smoke could be seen fire, as if the in¬ 
terior of the cone were a red-hot furnace. Some¬ 
times the vapors were shadowy as gray phantoms, 
sometimes glowing red with the reflection of the fire 
within, and as they whirled round the dim ravine 
loud explosions broke the silence. The view was as 
fleeting and evanescent as a landscape in a dream; 
one minute there would be nothing but a bank of mist 
and deadly stillness, the next a vision of fire and 
sounds that rent the mountain air. 

“It’s like looking into the bottomless pit,” shiv¬ 
ered Delia. 

“Oh, but it’s magnificent!” gasped Peachy. 

“I’d no idea it would be so grand as this,” said 
Irene. “I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds.” 


149 


Up Vesuvius 

“Come along, girls. The guides can take us far¬ 
ther,” said Miss Morley. “Don’t be frightened, for 
it’s perfectly safe, and they won’t let us go into any 
danger.” 

So they went some way along the mountain and 
turned down a side path towards the crater. It w r as 
difficult walking, for they were all among lava and 
sliding cinders, but the guides kept close by them, 
and helped them over difficult places. When they 
had descended perhaps a hundred feet or so, the 
ground became percolated with steam, jets of it 
poured from holes among the rocks, and the cinders 
upon which they stood felt warm to their boots. 
The guides brought the party to a halt upon a ledge 
of volcanic rock, from below which ran a sheer slide 
of hot cinders into the ravine. From here there was 
a splendid near view of the cone, its top yellow with 
sulphur, and at its base a lake of molten lava. One 
of the guides, a venturesome fellow, climbed down 
by another path and fetched lumps of sulphur as 
souvenirs for the girls, and the other guide pressed 
upon them pieces of lava into which, while hot, he 
had inserted coins, so that they had set into the mass 
when cool. They were naturally immensely de¬ 
lighted with these mementoes, and put them in 
their pockets, quite unsuspecting of the sequel that 
was to ensue. 

It was a fearful scramble back up the steep path 
over the sliding cinders. The guides held out a stick 
or a hand to help at awkward corners, and being 


150 The Jolliest School of All 

young and active the party managed to scale the side 
of the ravine and regain the summit of the mountain 
without any accidents, though Delia confessed after¬ 
wards that she had fully expected to tumble back¬ 
wards and roll into the lava, a fear which Miss 
Morley pooh-poohed entirely. 

“There was no danger unless you fainted, and the 
guides were close at your elbow the whole time,” she 
declared. 

The smiling officials in the gray uniforms and red- 
banded caps had indeed seemed the good geniuses 
of the excursion, but alack! they exhibited a different 
aspect when they had conducted their party back to 
the entrance of the funicular railway. Not satisfied 
with the payment which the government tariff al¬ 
lowed them to charge, they demanded from each of 
the visitors exorbitant tips in consideration of the 
little lumps of sulphur and lava which they had given 
them from the crater. The girls, who had supposed 
these to be presents, were most indignant. 

“Five francs for a scrap of sulphur!” 

“And we’d just called him such a kind man!” 

“Let him keep his wretched souvenirs!” 

“No, no! I want mine!” 

“It’s too bad!” 

“I want my money to buy post-cards!” 

“It’s absolute blackmail!” 

The guides, no longer smiling and obliging, but 
clamoring loudly for extra money, were finally set¬ 
tled with by Miss Morley, who knew the customs of 


151 


Up Vesuvius 

the country, and was aware that they would be 
quite content with less than half of what they had 
asked. 

“It’s always the way in Naples,” she said philoso¬ 
phically, as she thankfully bundled her flock into the 
funicular. “You can’t get along anywhere without 
tipping. The government may try its best to ar¬ 
range fixed prices, but every one who goes sightsee¬ 
ing must be prepared to part with a good deal in the 
way of small change. The guides are not such brig¬ 
ands as they used to be, thank goodness. Thirty 
or forty years ago I suppose it was hopeless to come 
unless you brought a courier with you from Naples 
to keep the others off. Well, you have your little 
souvenirs of Vesuvius at any rate, even if they’ve 
turned out rather expensive ones. They’re some¬ 
thing to keep, aren’t they?” 

“I wouldn’t have given up mine if they’d asked me 
twenty dollars for it,” declared Peachy, fondling the 
nickel coin set in the lump of lava. 

“I don’t understand the Neapolitans,” frowned 
Irene. “One minute they’re so charming and per¬ 
suasive and winning and gay, and the next they’re 
absolute bandits.” 

“They’re a mixed race, with a good deal of the 
Spaniard in them,” explained Miss Morley. “We 
must make certain allowances for their southern tem¬ 
peraments and customs. They’re very poor, and 
they look upon American and British tourists as 
made of money, and therefore fair game to be 


152 The Jolliest School of All 

fleeced. The best plan is to take them quite calmly, 
and never lose your temper however excited they 
may get. When you’ve lived here for a time you 
learn how to treat them.” 

By this time they had reached the bottom of the 
funicular, and were back in the little station near 
the observatory. A picturesque woman, with a yel¬ 
low shawl round her shoulders, and long gold ear¬ 
rings in her ears, came hurrying up to sell post-cards, 
and offered to show the party the quickest way into 
the hotel. As every one was very tired and hungry 
Miss Morley succumbed to the voice of this siren, 
and permitted her to escort them by what she as¬ 
sured them would be a short cut and would save 

* 

many steps. But alas for Italian veracity! Their 
suave and smiling guide led them down a path at the 
back of the hotel to a shabby and dirty little restau¬ 
rant of her own, where she vehemently assured them 
she would provide them with a far cheaper meal, an 
offer which, at the sight of the crumby table-cloth, 
they resolutely refused. 

“The old humbug! I’d no idea she was decoying 
us away from the hotel. Really nobody can be 
trusted up here,” fumed Miss Morley. “Come 
along, girls. I told the conductor to reserve a table 
for us, and there won’t be time to have lunch before 
the train starts unless we’re quick.” 

So they all hurried back again up the path—much 
to the chagrin of the siren—and found their own w T ay 
into the hotel, where seats had been kept for them 


Up Vesuvius 153 

in the restaurant, and dishes of macaroni and vege¬ 
tables and cups of hot coffee were in readiness. 

The great attraction to the girls was the fact that 
if they bought post-cards at the hotel these could be 
stamped by the conductor of the train with the Vesu¬ 
vius postmark, and posted in a special pillar-box at 
the station. The idea of sending cards to their 
friends actually from the volcano itself was most fas¬ 
cinating, and they scribbled away till the last avail¬ 
able moment. 

“I guess some homes in America will be startled 
when they see these,” purred Peachy, addressing 
flaming representations of an eruption. “It ought 
just to make Nell Condy’s eyes pop out.” 

“I’m only afraid they won’t believe we’ve really 
been,” sighed Delia, skeptically. 

“They’ll have to, with the Vesuvius postmark. 
The post-office can’t tell fibs at any rate. I call these 
cards a bit of luck. Be a sport, somebody, and lend 
me an extra stamp. I’m cleared out, and haven’t so 
much as a nickel left.” 

“Hurry, girls, or we shan’t get places in the train,” 
urged Miss Morley, sweeping her party from the 
hotel into the station, where other tourists were be¬ 
ginning to crowd into the carriages. 

The platform was a characteristic Italian scene; a 
blind man with a guitar was singing gay Neapolitan 
songs in a beautiful tenor voice, a woman with a 
lovely brown-eyed baby was calling oranges, an old 
man with a red cap and a faded blue umbrella under 


154 The Jolliest School of All 

his arm offered specimens of hand-made lace, while 
a roguish-looking girl tried to sell cameos carved in 
lava, throwing them on to the laps of the passengers 
as they sat in the train. Irene, who was beginning 
to learn Italian methods of purchase, commenced to 
bargain with her for a quaintly cut mascot, reduc¬ 
ing the price asked lira by lira till at length, when the 
conductor blew his brass horn, she finally got it for 
exactly half of what was at first demanded. 

“And quite enough too,” said Miss Morley, who 
had watched the business with amusement. “She’s 
probably more than satisfied, and will go dancing 
home to her mother. Let me look, Irene? This 
funny little hunchback is always considered the ‘luck’ 
of Vesuvius. I believe he’s copied from a model 
found in Pompeii. He’s the true mascot of the 
mountain. Yes, he’s quite a pretty little curio and 
well worth having.’’ 

“I wish I’d had any money left to buy one with,” 
sighed Peachy. 

The train was speeding downhill now, leaving 
ashes and lava behind, and heading for the bright 
bay where the sun was shining on the sea. Seen 
from above against a gray background of olives and 
other trees not yet in leaf, the blossoming peaches 
and apricots had a filmy fairy look most beautiful to 
behold. Behind frowned the great volcano still 
belching out clouds of smoke. 

“I’ve a different impression of old Vesuvius now 


Up Vesuvius 155 

I’ve seen his heart,” said Peachy, looking back for a 
last farewell view. 

“He still seems full of mischief, but I’m glad he 
played no tricks while we were up there,” commented 
Delia. 

“It’s certainly one of the sights of the world, and 
I’m glad I’ve seen it,” said Lorna. “Yes, I don’t 
mind telling you I was scared when these explosions 
kept popping off. I thought it was going to erupt 
and give us the benefit.” 

Irene, when they were back at the Villa Camellia, 
patched up her squabble with Peachy, whom she had 
offended over the rosemary incident, and pressed the 
Vesuvius mascot upon her as a peace offering. 

“I didn’t mean to grab your flowers,” she assured 
her. “Really, honest Injun, I didn’t.” 

“Why, I’d forgotten all about it,” declared her 
light-hearted chum. “I didn’t mind a bit after my 
‘first mad’ cooled off. Sorry if I was a bear. No, 
I won’t take your lucky hunchback. Must I? Well, 
you’re a dear! I’d adore to have it. I felt abso¬ 
lutely green when I saw you buy it. I’ll hang him 
on a chain and wear him round my neck, and I ex¬ 
pect I’ll just be a whiz at tennis to-morrow. Oh, 
isn’t he funny? Thanks ever so! I shall keep him 
eternally as a memory of this ripping day up old 
Vesuvius.” 


CHAPTER XII 


Tar and Feathers 

After the decided triumph of their Anglo-Ameri¬ 
can tableau at the carnival, the Camellia Buds held 
up their heads against their rivals, the Starry Circle. 
There was hot competition between the two sorori¬ 
ties, each continually trying to “go one better” than 
the other. If the Stars held a surreptitious candy 
party, the Buds, at the risk of detection by Rachel 
or some other prefect, gave a dormitory stunt, 
throwing out hints afterwards of the fun they had 
enjoyed. Both societies produced manuscript maga¬ 
zines, which were read in strict privacy at their meet¬ 
ings, and contained pointed allusions to their 
enemies’ failings. No old-fashioned Whigs and 
Tories could have preserved a keener feud, the divi¬ 
sion between them waxing so serious that sometimes 
they could hardly sit peaceably side by side in class. 

“It’s all Mabel,” declared Jess. “Of course we 
had two sororities before she came, but we weren’t 
at daggers drawn like this. Mabel has spoiled 
Bertha, and those two lead everything—the rest are 
simply sheep.” 

“Humph! Pretty black sheep I should call them,” 

snorted Peachy. “They’re siding with one another 

156 


157 


• Tar and Feathers 

now to break rules. I don’t mean candy parties or 
just fun of that kind, but sneaking things: they’re 
cheating abominably over their exercises, and crib¬ 
bing each other’s translations wholesale. I found 
them at it yesterday and told them what I thought 
about them. Some of them ought to know better. 
Rosamonde and Monica aren’t really that sort.” 

“They’re bear-led by Bertha and Mabel. I lay 
all the blame on them. It would be a good thing for 
the Stars if that precious pair could be caught trip¬ 
ping and taught a lesson.” 

“I dare say it would but it’s not an easy business,” 
said Peachy gloomily. “Mabel Hughes is an ex¬ 
tremely slippery young person, and she generally 
manages to keep out of open trouble. I don’t sup¬ 
pose any of the teachers, or even the prefects, have 
the least idea what she’s really like.” 

“And we can’t go sneaking and tell them, so we 
must try and engineer the matter for ourselves.” 

It was undoubtedly true that with the advent of 
Mabel Hughes a new and unpleasant element had 
crept into the Transition. Such an influence is often 
very subtle. Girls who a term ago would not have 
condescended to any form of cheating, accepted a 
lower standard of honor, and tried to excuse them¬ 
selves on the ground that they merely did the same 
as others. The fact that the Camellia Buds did not 
share in the dishonesty was set down to priggishness 
on their part, Bertha and Mabel often making jokes 
at their expense. One day an unpleasant matter hap- 


158 The Jolliest School of All 

pened in the school. It was the fortnightly examina¬ 
tion, and when the Transition took their places at 
their desks, with sheets of foolscap and lists of ques¬ 
tions, it was found that the inkwells of each mem¬ 
ber of the Camellia Buds had been stuffed up with 
blotting-paper, so that it was impossible for them to 
dip their pens. 

Miss Bickford, who did not even know of the 
existence of the sororities, and therefore could not 
perceive the significance of the fact that certain girls 
were thus served while others went free, flew into a 
towering rage, and accused Peachy, whose reputa¬ 
tion as a practical joker was not altogether unde¬ 
served, of having played the shameless “joke.” 
Peachy, smarting with the injustice of the false 
charge, forgot herself and retorted hotly. 

“Priscilla Proctor!” thundered Miss Bickford. 
“I have sometimes excused high spirits, but I never 
allow impertinence and insubordination. Leave the 
room instantly and go upstairs to the sanatorium. 
You’ll remain there until you apologize.” 

A dead hush fell over the class as Peachy, with 
flaming eyes and chin in the air, flounced out and 
slammed the door after her. It was an extreme 
measure at the Villa Camellia to banish a girl to the 
sanatorium, a public disgrace generally administered 
only by one of the principals, and scarcely ever re¬ 
sorted to by a form mistress. 

Miss Bickford, with a red spot on each cheek, 
glared at the row of faces in front of her. 


159 


Tar and Feathers 

“Can any one give any information about this 
business?” she asked, then as nobody replied she 
continued, “I’m disgusted with the whole set of you. 
I wish to say that I’m not as blind as you seem to 
think, and I’ve noticed many points about your work 
that are, to say the least, extremely suspicious. I 
tell you once and for all this must stop! I won’t 
have cheating, practical jokes, or impertinence in this 
form. Do you all thoroughly understand me? Very 
well then, don’t let this kind of thing ever happen 
again. Empty those ink-pots out on to that tray, 
and, Winnie, fetch the ink-bottle out of the cup¬ 
board and refill them. This senseless proceeding 
has wasted a large part of your examination time, 
but I shall make no excuse for it. Your papers will 
be marked as if you had begun at nine o’clock.” 

With Miss Bickford on the war-path no one dared 
to say a single word, but at mid-morning interval the 
injured Camellia Buds snatched their biscuits, and 
fled to their grotto in the garden to hold an indigna¬ 
tion meeting. Here they talked fast and freely. 

“It’s a jolly shame!” 

“Most unfair!” 

“Poor old Peachy!” 

“Who did it?” 

“Why, Mabel, of course!” 

“Or Bertha?” 

“One or other of them!” 

“Miss Bickford has noticed their cheating!” 

“Yes, and puts it off on to us all!” 


160 The Jolliest School of All 

“I like that!” 

“It’s so gloriously fair, isn’t it?” 

“She may say she’s not blind, but she’s an absolute 
cat!” 

“What’s to be done about it?” 

“Those Stars won’t ever tell!” 

“Trust them to screen themselves!” 

“Oh, it’s too bad!” 

Letting off steam, though comforting to their 
feelings, did not bring them any nearer to a solution 
of their problem. The unpleasant fact remained 
that the rival sorority had played an abominable 
trick, and that the blame at present rested upon 
Peachy. To prove her innocence required the wis¬ 
dom of Solomon. 

If they Could have explained the whole situation 
to Miss Bickford she would at once have seen for 
herself that the offender must be among the ranks 
of the Stars, but such a proceeding would mean not 
only an entire breach of schoolgirl etiquette, but a 
betrayal of their own secret society. It was not to 
be thought of for a moment. 

“Peachy’ll have to climb down and apologize,” 
decided Jess. 

“Peachy eat humble-pie? Oh, good-night!” 

“Well, she certainly was cheeky.” 

“Small blame to her!” 

“It was very silly of her, though, to flare out.” 

“She’s in the fix of her life now, poor dear.” 

“Can’t we do anything to help her?” 


161 


Tar and Feathers 

“I don’t know. Let’s think it over and hold an¬ 
other meeting this afternoon.” 

Peachy’s place at the dinner-table was empty that 
day, and her meal was sent up to the sanatorium 
upon a tray. Miss Bickford had told her side of the 
story to Miss Rodgers, who agreed that discipline 
must be maintained, and ordered the detention of 
the prisoner until she showed symptoms of repen¬ 
tance. Meanwhile Peachy, still in an utterly rebel¬ 
lious frame of mind, stayed upstairs, determined 
not to give way. It was dull, undoubtedly, to be 
banished to solitary confinement, for there was not 
even a book in the room to amuse her. Her own 
thoughts were her sole occupation. She had a very 
fertile brain, however, and suddenly a most brilliant 
suggestion occurred to her. The sanatorium was on 
the top story of the Villa Camellia, and by peeping 
from its window she could command a view of the 
iron balcony that fronted the rooms below. She 
calculated that she was probably exactly above 
dormitory io, occupied by Joan, Esther, Mary, and 
Agnes, and that these chums would later on be en¬ 
gaged there at their preparation. With a little in¬ 
genuity it should be possible to communicate with 
them. She unfortunately had neither pencil nor 
paper with her, so could not write a note, but she 
took off her brooch and fastened it to the end of a 
long piece of string, which by extra good luck hap¬ 
pened to be in her pocket. When she judged that 
the right moment had arrived she lowered her signal 


162 The Jolliest School of All 

so that it would tap on the balcony. There was, of 
course, a certain amount of risk about the venture, 
for she might have miscalculated, and be dropping 
her token into the midst of enemies instead of 
friends. Greatly to her relief, however, Agnes ap¬ 
peared through the French window, and, after ex¬ 
amining the brooch with apparent surprise, glanced 
upwards and saw Peachy’s face. She gave a com¬ 
prehensive smile, put her fingers on her lips for 
silence, bolted into her dormitory, and returned 
with a package of chocolate which she tied firmly to 
the end of the string, then waved her hand and 
darted back to her preparation. 

Peachy drew up her present, chuckling with de¬ 
light. She felt almost like a captive of the Middle 
Ages, and was beginning to plan a romantic escape 
down an improvised rope ladder, when it occurred 
to her that she would scarcely know what to do with 
her liberty if she regained it. 

“Botheration!” she mused. “Unless I square 
things up I can’t walk in to tea, and I can’t haunt 
the garden like a wandering ghost, and I’ve no 
money to pay my passage on the steamer, so I 
can’t go home to Naples. Nothing for it but to 
stay here, I suppose, and see who gets tired out 
first.” 

When the Camellia Buds were able to meet to¬ 
gether again at a secret conclave in the garden, Agnes 
announced the important fact of having established 
communication with the prisoner. After an ani- 


Tar and Feathers 


163 


mated discussion they decided to write her a round- 
robin letter and set forth their idea of the situation. 
Each composed a sentence in turn, and Lorna 
acted as scribe. It ran thus: 


The Grotto. 

To our noble friend and Camellia Bud — 

Greeting! 

The Sorority desires to express a vote of 
sympathy for the very unpleasant occur¬ 
rence that happened this morning. 

A. Dalton. 

Those Stars are the meanest things on 
earth and want spifflicating. 

J. Lucas. 

We admire you for the magnificent 
stand you are making, but we don f t see how 
you are going to keep it up. 

M. Fergusson. 

Ids frightfully slow without you. 

I. Beverley. 

We think you’ll have to cave in and 
apologize. 


S. Yonge. 


164 The Jolliest School of All 


But, of course, not own up to something 
you never did. 


J. Cameron. 


We } ll get even with those Stars to make 
up for this. 


L. Carson. 


Don’t stick in the Sanatorium all night . 

E. Cartmell. 

It’s no use getting too mad, old sport! 

Come right down and talk sense. 

D. Watts. 

This united effusion was placed in an envelope, 
and carried by Agnes to her dormitory, where, after 
scouts in the garden had assured her that the coast 
was clear, she ventured on to the veranda, and gave 
a cooee which brought Peachy to the window above. 
The latter let down her string and drew up the let¬ 
ter, which she pondered upon in private. She was 
wise enough to accept the good advice, and when 
Miss Bickford appeared later on she tendered her 
apologies. The teacher had possibly repented of 
her hasty accusation, for she did not refer to the 
matter of the inkwells, but merely required satisfac¬ 
tion for “insubordination.” That being given 
Peachy was once more free, though she could hardly 
consider herself restored to full favor. 


165 


Tar and Feathers 

“I used to like Miss Bickford,” she grumped, “but 
I really don’t think she’s been fair over this. Why 
couldn’t she ask each girl separately what she knew 
about it?” 

“Much good that would have done. Bertha and 
Mabel wouldn’t have told the truth, and things 
would only have been in a worse muddle. We’ll 
catch those two sometime if we can only think of 
how to do it.” 

“Ah! That’s just the question.” 

Even the Stars had been rather alarmed by Miss 
Bickford’s firm attitude, and for the present they did 
not dare to cheat openly or to play any more tricks 
upon the form. Stopped in this direction their ring¬ 
leaders turned their attention to other matters. 
What was the nature of these it was Irene’s lot one 
day to discover. She happened to be walking in a 
rather quiet part of the garden, a portion reserved 
mostly for vegetables, which adjoined the great wall 
that separated the estate from the highroad. As 
she sauntered along, doing nothing in particular, she 
noticed Mabel, who was standing under an orange 
tree close to the wall. At the same moment, ad¬ 
vancing towards them came the sound of Rachel’s 
voice caroling an old English song. Now there is 
nothing in the least wrong or unorthodox in stand¬ 
ing under an orange tree, yet the instant Irene 
glimpsed Mabel’s face she was certain her school¬ 
mate was in that particular spot for some reason 
the reverse of good. She looked uneasily at Irene, 


166 The Jolliest School of All 

glanced in Rachel’s direction, seemed to hesitate, 
and finally took to her heels and bolted away through 
the bushes. Next minute, over the top of the high 
wall descended a little parcel. It caught in the 
branches of the orange tree, fell to the ground, and 
rolled under a clump of cabbages. Irene took no 
notice, and sauntered on in the direction of Rachel, 
but when the prefect had passed out of sight she re¬ 
turned, groped among the vegetables, found the 
parcel, and slipped it into her packet. 

“Miss Mabel Hughes, I believe I’ve caught you 
tripping this time,” she chuckled. “I must send out 
the fiery cross and call an immediate meeting of the 
Camellia Buds.” 

Among the secret practices of the sorority was a 
private signal only to be used in times of urgent ne¬ 
cessity. It had been suggested by Jess Cameron, 
who took the idea from The Lady of the Lake, in 
which poem a gathering of the clan is proclaimed 
by a runner bearing a cross of wood charred in the 
fire. Two burnt matches fastened together with 
thread served the Camellia Buds for their token, and 
it was the strictest rite of their order that any one 
receiving this cryptic symbol must immediately leave 
whatever she happened to be doing and proceed post¬ 
haste to the rendezvous. 

So promptly did the members of the society re¬ 
spond to the summons that within ten minutes of the 
issue of the fiery cross they were assembled in the 
summer-house in a state of much expectancy. Irene 


Tar and Feathers 


167 


explained how a parcel had been thrown over the 
wall, evidently for Mabel, who undoubtedly had 
been standing waiting for it. It was not addressed 
to Mabel, however, and as it bore no direction at all 
on the outside the Camellia Buds considered them¬ 
selves justified in opening it. It contained a package 
of cheap chocolate, and a letter written in a foreign 
hand in rather bad English. 

Beautiful Signorina , 

Make me the compliment to accept of me this few 
chocolate. I like the letter you gave to me on Sunday. 

I will again present myself near to the hotel to wait 
upon you as you pass. Accept I pray you the assurance 
of my profoundest respects. 

Emanuele Sutoni. 

“Who is Emanuele Sutoni?” gasped Delia. “And 
what’s he got to do with us?” 

“Nothing to do with us,” frowned Jess. “But I’m 
afraid Mabel has been trying to get up some silly 
love affair. If Miss Morley or Miss Rodgers found 
this out she’d be expelled.” 

“What are we going to do about it? Tell 
Rachel?” 

“I don’t think so,” pondered Jess. “You see, of 
course, we’re perfectly certain among ourselves that 
the letter was meant for Mabel, but it isn’t ad¬ 
dressed to her so there’s no real evidence. Not 
enough to convince Rachel. It would be better 


168 The Jolliest School of All 

really to tell her we’ve found out and that she’s got 
to stop it.” 

“I know! Let’s tar and feather her!” squealed 
Peachy excitedly. “That’s the best way to frighten 
her. Of course, I don’t mean real tar, but soap does 
just as well. She thoroughly deserves it. I vote we 
do it to-night. We’ll hold an inquisition in her 
dormitory. It will be easy enough to square Elsie.” 

Peachy’s grim idea appealed to the Camellia Buds. 
They considered it was time that a public demonstra¬ 
tion was made against Mabel, whose general be¬ 
havior was very unworthy of the traditions of 
the Villa Camellia. They decided to have their 
tribunal immediately after the lights were turned out, 
while the prefects, who sat up later than the Tran¬ 
sition, were still downstairs, and the mistresses were 
having cocoa in Miss Rodgers’ study. The affair 
was to be a surprise for Mabel, but as Elsie also 
slept in the same dormitory it was necessary to se¬ 
cure her cooperation, in case she might give the 
alarm and summon a prefect. Elsie, however, 
proved an easily won ally. 

“I can’t bear Mabel,” she assured Irene. “You 
may do anything you like to her as far as I’m con¬ 
cerned. I shall pretend to be asleep. Monica and 
Rosamonde and Winnie can’t stand her either. I 
don’t mind telling you that we’re going to resign 
from the Starry Circle and found a new sorority 
of our own. It isn’t good enough to be mixed up 
with such girls as Mabel and Bertha.” 


Tar and Feathers 169 

“I’m glad you’ve found them out,” said Irene. 
“It was high time somebody made a protest.” 

The four occupants of dormitory 3 went to bed as 
usual that night, but as soon as the lights were out 
Lorna and Irene put on their dressing-gowns and 
stockings, and slipped into the bathroom. Here 
they hastily completed the details of their costumes 
in company with the rest of the Camellia Buds, who 
had rallied for the occasion. Three minutes after¬ 
wards a strange procession entered dormitory 3. 
Ten dressing-gowned figures, each wearing a black 
mask and holding a piece of lighted candle in her 
hand, startled the astonished eyes of Mabel Hughes, 
who sat up in bed to stare at them. 

“What’s all this about?” she asked. 

“We’ve come here to hold an inquisition on your 
conduct,” replied a solemn voice from behind one of 
the black masks. “Will you kindly get out of bed 
and seat yourself upon this chair. We should be 
sorry to use force, but I warn you you’ll have to 
obey us.” 

Looking a little scared Mabel apparently thought 
discretion the better part of valor. She rose, put 
on her dressing-gown, and took the seat indicated. 
Her inquisitors grouped themselves opposite, placing 
their candles in a row upon the mantelpiece. Their 
spokeswoman, unfolding a large sheet of paper, pro¬ 
ceeded to read the indictment. 


170 The Jolliest School of All 

This is to tell all whom it may concern 
that Mabel Hughes, having broken every 
rule of decent and orderly behavior, and 
being no longer worthy of the name of gen - 
tlewoman y is here arraigned on the follow¬ 
ing charges: 

1. That she habitually takes advantage 
of and ill-treats the juniors when op¬ 
portunity occurs. 

2. That she cheats abominably at her 
work. 

3. That she endeavors to persuade others 

to cheat. 

! 4 . That she degrades the name of the 
Villa Camellia by receiving letters 
which are thrown to her over the wall, 
and by handing answers to them on 
her way to church. 

Mabel, who had smiled scornfully at the first 
three charges, changed color at the fourth. 

“What do you know about letters?” she chal¬ 
lenged sharply. 

“We know all,” ventured the solemn voice. “You 
had better confess at once, or the affair with Em* 
anuele will be exposed to the prefects.” 

“It’s my own business,” said Mabel sulkily. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s ours as well, and the whole 
school’s. We don’t want the Villa Camellia to be 


171 


Tar and Feathers 

disgraced in the eyes of the town. You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself. It’s so vulgar. Now, will 
you promise to give up all your bad habits and be¬ 
have like a lady.” 

“I’ll promise nothing,” snapped Mabel. 

“Then we shall be obliged to tar and feather 
you.” 

Mabel laughed, imagining it was an empty threat, 
but she was rapidly undeceived. Two inquisitors, 
seizing her by the arms, held her tightly in her chair, 
while several others smeared soap over her face and 
stuck on feathers which they took out of a cushion. 
She would have screamed, but every time she opened 
her mouth to do so she received a dab of soap upon 
her tongue. When they considered her countenance 
was sufficiently ornamented, they presented her with 
a looking-glass to view the effect. 

“That’s how we feel about it,” the spokeswoman 
assured her. “This is just to show you we won’t 
stand your horrid ways. Will you promise now to 
behave yourself, or do you want any more?” 

Apparently Mabel had had enough. She seemed 
rather frightened. She grumbled that she would 
agree to what they wished. 

“Just jolly well take care that you keep your 
promise then,” warned her inquisitor. “If you begin 
any of your old tricks again we have evidence against 
you, and we shall take it straight to Rachel. If I 
know anything of Rachel she’ll go to Miss Rodgers, 
and that means you’re expelled. So now you know! 


172 The Jolliest School of All 

You’d better be careful, Mabel Hughes. That’s all 
we came to say. You may wash your face if you 
like before you get into bed again.” 

The ten members of the inquisition, knowing that 
time was passing, and that the prefects would soon 
be coming upstairs, judged it wise to break up the 
meeting, and taking their candles beat a stately re¬ 
treat to their respective dormitories. Lorna and 
Irene, returning to their cubicles, heard Elsie 
chuckling. She had not interfered in any way 
with the performance, but it had evidently enter¬ 
tained her. She told the tale next day to her 
friends, with the result that Ruth, Rosamonde, Win¬ 
nie, Monica, and Callie joined her in seceding from 
the Starry Circle, leaving Mabel and Bertha as sole 
remaining representatives of that sorority. 

“We’re fed up with you,” Winnie assured the 
pair when they remonstrated. “We’re tired of your 
sneaking ways, and you may just keep them to your¬ 
selves. We’re not going to let you copy our exer¬ 
cises any more. And if we see you taking those kids’ 
biscuits again there’ll be squalls. No, we shan’t tell 
you the name of our new sorority. We’re not going 
to have anything to do with you ever again. So 
there!” 

Public opinion had for once triumphed on the 
right side, and Mabel and Bertha, greatly discom¬ 
fited, found their influence over the late Stars was 
at an end. The threat of telling Rachel had fright¬ 
ened Mabel; she was uncertain how much the Cam- 


173 


Tar and Feathers 

ellia Buds really knew, and judged it discreet to 
drop her clandestine correspondence. She had no 
wish for the matter to meet the ears of Miss Rod¬ 
gers, who, she was well aware, would take the most 
serious view of it. Though she cherished a grudge 
against her late inquisitors, she submitted to their 
demands, and for the time at any rate gave no out¬ 
ward cause for complaint. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Peachy’s Pranks 

“I’m sorry to have to announce it,” said Peachy, 
“but my spirits are fizzing over, and I guess if I 
don’t go just the teeniest weeniest bit on the rampage 
I’ll fly all to pieces and make a scene. Sometimes 
I’m tingling down to my toes and I’ve just got to 
explode. Being good is a lonesome job.” 

Peachy was sitting with Irene and Delia on one 
of the marble seats at the bottom of the lemon per¬ 
gola. It was a favorite spot with the girls, for it 
was sheltered from the prevailing wind and the flow¬ 
ers grew particularly luxuriantly. Lovely irises were 
blooming, white narcissus, wallflowers, and beds of 
Parma violets, and the beautiful delicate blossom of 
the arbutula drooped from an archway that spanned 
the path. Irene, who was used by this time to 
Peachy’s whimsical moods, laid aside the book she 
was reading and laughed. 

“Poor old sport! You’ve evidently got it badly 
to-day. What can we do for you? How, where, 
and when do you want to rampage?” 

Peachy shook her head dolefully. 

“I don’t know. Only wish I did. I’m tired of 
doing the same things over and over again every day. 

174 


175 


Peachy’s Pranks 

Getting up in the morning and dressing myself, hav¬ 
ing breakfast, going to classes, having dinner, grind¬ 
ing at prep, playing tennis, having tea and supper, 
and undressing and going to bed. I want to sleep 
in my clothes or go to class in my wrapper just for 
a change, and I’d like tennis in the morning and tea 
instead of dinner. I’m tired of the house and the 
garden. I want to dodge Antonio and go through 
the big gate and run down the road. I tell you 
I want to do absolutely anything that’s weird and 
impossible and out of the ordinary. Yes, I know 
I’m wrought up. I’m just crazy for a real frolic. 
Who’ll play ‘Follow my Leader’?” 

“If you won’t do anything too outrageous,” ven¬ 
tured Delia, replacing a dainty piece of sewing inside 
her workbag, and preparing to fall in with her 
friend’s mood. “I’ve had one little difference with 
Miss Bickford this week, and if I have another 
Miss Rodgers may cut up rough and stop my next 
exeat.” 

“Honest Injun, I’ll take all the blame if blame 
there is. Renie, dearie, you’re coming too?” 

“Got to, I suppose,” chuckled Irene. “When the 
Queen of the South arises and gives her orders her 
slaves must ‘tremble and obey.’ ” 

“Not much trembling about you. Come on and 
be sports, both of you. Are you ready? Do as your 
Granny tells you then, and off we go.” 

The game of “Follow my Leader,” as every 
schoolgirl knows, consists in exactly imitating every- 


176 The Jolliest School of All 

thing which is done by your chief, no matter what 
extraordinary and peculiar antics she may perform. 
To submit to Peachy’s guidance in the present exalted 
state of her spirits was a decided leap in the dark, 
but Irene and Delia were ready for fun, and pre¬ 
pared to take a few risks. At first their light¬ 
hearted companion contented herself with running 
in and out among the lemon trees, walking along 
the low wall of the terrace, jumping the culvert, or 
easy physical feats, then, having slightly worked off 
steam, she stood for a moment and paused to re¬ 
flect. 

“Christopher Columbus! I guess I know w T hat 
I’ll do. I’ve an exploring fit on me, and if I can’t 
find America I’ll find something else new and undis¬ 
covered. Here goes.” 

Peachy, with her satellites in her train, plunged 
her way across the garden in the direction of the 
kitchen. She had suddenly remembered an object 
which had more than once set her curiosity a-gal- 
loping. In the yard outside the scullery there was 
an iron staircase intended for use as a fire-escape 
from the servants’ bedrooms, and also as a means 
of mounting the roof when workmen wished to at¬ 
tend to the chimney-pots. Up here she was deter¬ 
mined to go. Fortunately the maids were safely 
inside the kitchen, and the defenses were left un¬ 
guarded. 

“This is my Jacob’s ladder,” she proclaimed. 
“Who’ll follow me to the sky?” 


Peachy’s Pranks 177 

ik ‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the spider to the fly, 
’ Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy! 

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, 

And I have many curious things to show you when you’re 
there.’ ” 


“Go on, you lunatic,” giggled Irene. 

“And be quick about it if you don’t want Dominica 
clattering at your heels,” added Delia. 

So they clambered up the steep iron stairway, and, 
passing by the door that led to the servants’ apart¬ 
ments, they climbed on till they reached the roof. 
This part of the Villa Camellia was terra incognita 
to the school. They decided hastily, however, that 
it would be a very desirable acquisition. It was a 
large flat expanse covered with lead, and edged with 
a low battlement. It was evidently used by the 
maids, for a clothes-line was stretched between 
two chimneys, and a row of towels hung out to dry. 
The view was adorable. It was like being on the 
top of a mountain. They could see the town of 
Fossato, and a wide expanse of water, and Vesuvius, 
and the distant outline of Naples all spread in a 
panorama before them, besides having an excellent 
bird’s-eye prospect of the garden below. Peachy, 
who was ready to do anything wild, went dancing 
about like a will-o’-the-wisp. 

“Light and airy—light and airy, 

Sure, I feel a sort of fairy,” 


178 The Jolliest School of All 

she extemporized. “Renie Beverley, you’re not mad 
enough! Give me your hand. I tell you you’ve got 
to dance. We’re witches who’ve flown over on our 
broomsticks) and alighted here, and we’ll have a 
frolic before we go back to—wherever we came 
from. Hello, what’s this business? It looks like a 
water-tank. Give me a boost, somebody, for I’m 
going up to see.” 

It was rather a scramble even for Peachy’s agile 
limbs, but she was resolved thoroughly to explore 
the capacities of the roof, and the cistern must not 
be left unvisited. She clung on to its slippery side 
and peered down at her own reflection in the water 
below. 

“No idea I looked so nice,” she perked. “The 
blue sky makes a charming background. Really, a 
pool is quite a becoming mirror. Does anybody else 
want to come up and peep? It’s like looking at the 
view-finder of a camera. Rather painful hanging 
on, though. I think I’ll drop if you’re neither of you 
coming. Oh, botheration! I’ve lost my hair ribbon. 
It’s gone right down inside the cistern. Well! It’s 
done for now. I can’t possibly fish it out.” 

“It wasn’t your best!” consoled Delia. 

“No, but the only scarlet one I possess, and just 
at present I’ve a wild fad for scarlet. I get crazes 
for various colors. Last term I’d look at nothing 
but pale blue, till Bertha Ford got that new blue 
chiffon dress, and that, of course, set me against 
it forevermore. I’d a rage for tartan once, only 


179 


Peachy’s Pranks 

Jess was rather nasty about it; she thinks no one 
in the school has a right to wear Scotch plaids except 
herself. I’ve spent all my pocket money for this 
week, so I can’t buy another ribbon till next Saturday. 
I shall have to go about in pink. Miau! I’ll be such 
a good little pussy-cat. I’m sure different colors 
make me good or bad. Don’t laugh at me! I mean 
it! I’m a different person according to what I 
wear.” 

For a short time the girls loitered about on the 
roof, enjoying the novelty of their position, and par¬ 
ticularly the fact that they were on unlicensed 
ground, and would undoubtedly get into trouble if 
they were caught by Dominica or Anastasia. 
Naughty Peachy, to play the maids a trick, took 
down the row of towels, folded them neatly, and 
placed them in a pile behind the cistern, chuckling 
over the prospect of Anastasia’s consternation when 
she came up to fetch them and found them miss- 
ing. 

“I owe her something for breaking my pink ala¬ 
baster vase,” she announced. “She’s an awful 
smasher with her duster—just goes surging ahead 
over our mantelpiece and sends our ornaments fly¬ 
ing. Mary’s Pompeii pots went to smithereens yes¬ 
terday. Now, Signorina Anastasia, you won’t find 
your towels in too big a hurry. I guess I’ve paid you 
out.” 

“She’ll pay you out if she catches us up here,” 
suggested Delia, who was anxious not to forfeit her 


180 The Jolliest School of All 

exeat. “Hadn’t we better be getting a move on?” 

“Words of wisdom, my child, fall from your lips 
like pearls and diamonds. The same sage thought 
was occurring to your humble servant. Anastasia 
has what is commonly called a tart tongue, and an 
inconvenient and inconsiderate habit of reporting 
trifles at headquarters. It would be quite unneces¬ 
sary of her to mention to Miss Rodgers that she 
had seen us here, but I believe she’d go out of her 
way to do it.” 

“I’m sure she would, bad luck to her. Lead on, 
MacDuff! Let’s descend from the Highlands to the 
Lowlands.” 

“We may find further sport farther afield. I’m 
not at the end of my resources yet. I’ve an idea or 
two more in my head,” nodded Peachy, escorting her 
friends down the staircase to the comparative safety 
of the back yard. 

There was no doubt that Peachy was in an ex¬ 
ceedingly mischievous mood and ready for any prank 
which came to hand. She dodged with her followers 
successfully past the kitchen door, without attract¬ 
ing the hostile attention of Anastasia or any other 
of the servants. She was bent on exploring a patch 
of the garden which was only accessible from the 
rear of the scullery. She had observed it from the 
vantage-ground of the roof, and had decided that, 
by climbing on to a low shed, it would be quite pos¬ 
sible to scale the wall which divided the grounds 
of the Villa Camellia from those of its next door 


Peachy’s Pranks 181 

neighbor. The girls had always been extremely cur¬ 
ious about the Villa Sutri. From their dormitory 
windows they could catch a glimpse of its green 
shutters and creeper-covered walls, set away among 
a thick grove of trees, and they had decided that its 
garden looked immensely superior to their own. 
The estate belonged to Count Sutri, who often spent 
part of the winter and spring among his orange 
groves and his flowery pergolas. He was supposed 
to have a reputation for gardening, and rumors of 
his wonderful exotics had circulated round the 
school. None of the girls, however, had ever actu¬ 
ally been inside the grounds. 

Peachy’s project was, of course, extremely auda¬ 
cious, and had the Count been at home she would 
hardly have dared to let it materialize. She had 
heard Mrs. Clark mention on Sunday that their 
neighbor had started for a cruise in his yacht, and 
that he would probably be away for a considerable 
time. 

“The Villa will be shut up, and only a few gar¬ 
deners left about the place,” declared Peachy, “and 
if I know anything of Italian gardeners, they’ll all 
be sitting smoking inside the summer-house, so we 
needn’t trouble ourselves to worry about them. It’s 
the opportunity of a lifetime. I saw the whole thing 
in a flash from the roof. There’s a shed on our side 
of the wall and a shed on his. All you have to do 
is to step over and get down. Nothing could be 
simpler. I’m just aching to explore that garden.” 



182 The Jolliest School of All 

Delia, still thinking of her exeat, demurred, and 
even Irene’s valor slightly quailed. 

“Oh, come on! Be sports!” tempted Peachy. 
“You’ll never get such a chance in your lives again 
—never.” 

So they hesitated, and were lost, and finally fol¬ 
lowed their leader up the low, sloping roof of the 
shed. 

As Peachy had prophesied, it was really remark¬ 
ably easy. They had only to scale quite a low piece 
of wall, and drop on to the roof of the shed on the 
other side, then scramble down into Count Sutri’s 
garden. In less than five minutes the feat was ac¬ 
complished, and three rather awed but delighted girls 
were speeding along a green alley in quest of adven¬ 
ture. 

There was no doubt about it being a beautiful 
garden. It was more carefully kept than that of the 
Villa Camellia, and contained choicer and rarer 
flowers. There were glorious tanks of water-lilies, 
and there were pergolas of sweet-scented creepers, 
and the statues and arbors utterly eclipsed even 
those of a public park. It was evidently the Count’s 
favorite hobby, and he had spared no expense in 
laying out the grounds. Rather fearful of being 
caught by some chance gardener the girls walked on, 
holding themselves in readiness to dive away if neces¬ 
sary and make a quick escape. 

“Do you feel like Adam and Eve in Paradise?” 
queried Delia tremulously. 


183 


Peachy’s Pranks 

“Not a bit, because they never got back after 
they were once turned out. I wish we could annex 
this place and add it on to the Villa Camellia. The 
Count can’t want it while he’s away.” 

The girls wandered about in breathless enjoy¬ 
ment. Stolen waters are sweet, and somebody else’s 
garden seemed much more attractive than their own. 
They did not dare to venture too near the Villa, and 
kept carefully away from anything that looked like 
a grotto or a summer-house, in which they might 
find a gardener seated, enjoying his cigarette. At 
the end of a rose pergola, however, Peachy made a 
discovery. It was neither more nor less than a 
flight of steps leading down to a door in the ground. 
She stood gazing at it with curiosity. 

“Now I wonder what that is?” she exclaimed. 

“Looks like the entrance to a mausoleum,” shud- 
dered Delia. 

“Or the strong room where the Count keeps his 
money,” laughed Irene. 

“I don’t believe it’s either. I shouldn’t be sur¬ 
prised if it’s the passage leading to the sea. I know 
there is one in the Sutri garden, to get down to the 
bathing cove. How priceless if we’ve happened to 
light upon it. Is that door open ? I’m going to see.” 

Peachy ran down the steps, turned the handle, and 
somewhat to her own astonishment found the door 
unlocked. She was peering into a long dark tunnel, 
at the end of which could be distinguished a faint 
glint of light. This was indeed an adventure. It 


184 The Jolliest School of All 

seemed a deed of daring to explore such hidden 
depths, but she was out to take risks that afternoon. 

“Come along!” she commanded, bracing up the 
spirits of her more timorous comrades. 

Holding one another’s arms particularly tightly, 
the three entered the doorway and began to walk 
along the underground passage. It sloped sharply 
downwards, and was rough under foot, but the far¬ 
ther they descended the brighter grew the light in 
front of them. Presently they had stumbled out of 
the darkness, and were emerging from a tunnel at 
the foot of the cliffs, and stepping out on to the 
sandy shore of a little cove. 

It had always been a great grievance at the Villa 
Camellia that the school had no bathing place, and 
the girls had greatly coveted the creek which was 
the exclusive property of their neighbor, Count Sutri. 
To find themselves on a level with the sea, facing 
the lapping waves, was exactly what they had hoped. 
They ran along the sand in huge delight, to the very 
edge of the water. It was really a beautiful cove. 
There were groups of rocks with smooth pools 
amongst them, and in the silvery sand were num¬ 
bers of tiny fragile shells, very pretty and delicate, 
and just the thing for a collection. 

“It’s a shame it should all belong to one man who 
probably hardly ever uses it,” flamed Peachy. 
“Now, if only we could all come down here to bathe, 
wouldn’t it be a stunt? The cove is really mostly 



‘“I WONDER WHAT THAT IS?’ SHE EXCLAIMED” 

—Page 183 







Peachy’s Pranks 185 

under the garden of the Villa Camellia. I say it 
ought to belong to us.” 

“It’s ours for the moment at any rate,” said 
Irene. 

“Yes, isn’t it great? We’ve got it all to our¬ 
selves,” rejoiced Delia, dancing along the beach with 
outstretched arms, like an incarnation of Zephyr or 
a spring vision of a sea-nymph. She skimmed over 
the sand almost as if she were flying, but, as she 
reached the largest group of rocks, her exalted 
mood suddenly dissipated and her high spirits came 
down to earth with a thud. Sitting on the other 
side of the rock, calmly smoking a cigar, was a 
middle-aged individual in a tweed coat and a soft hat. 
The creek, which they had imagined was their pri¬ 
vate paradise, was occupied after all. 

Delia fled back to her friends, this time on wings 
of fright, and communicated her awful discovery. 

“It must be Count Sutri,” gasped Peachy. 

“He can’t have started off in his yacht after all,” 
agreed Irene. 

“I don’t think he saw me, but I’m not sure about 
it,” panted Delia breathlessly. 

“Whether he did or he didn’t we’d better scoot 
quick,” opined Peachy. 

So three agitated girls dashed back over the sands 
and into the dark tunnel, and hurried as fast as they 
could up the underground passage, expecting every 
moment to hear a footstep behind them and a voice 


186 The Jolliest School of All 

demanding to know what they were doing trespass¬ 
ing upon the premises. At the top of the tunnel a 
horrible surprise awaited them. The door through 
which they had entered was shut and bolted. At 
first they could hardly believe their ill luck. They 
groped for the handle in the darkness, and pushed 
and pulled and turned and tugged, but all in vain. 
They even thumped on the door and called, hoping 
to attract the attention of a gardener, but there was 
no reply. They were hopelessly locked inside the 
underground passage. 

Now thoroughly frightened they were almost in 
tears. 

“We shall have to go back to the cove,” faltered 
Irene. 

“And show ourselves to Count Sutri, and ask 
him to take us back somehow,” gulped Peachy. 

“We’re in for the biggest row of our lives with 
Miss Rodgers,” choked Delia. 

There was certainly nothing else to be done. 
Time was passing quickly, and unless they could re¬ 
turn at once to the Villa Camellia they would be late 
for preparation. Very sadly and soberly they 
walked back along the seashore to the rocks. 

“You explain, Peachy,” urged the others, and 
Peachy, though she did not relish the task thus 
thrust upon her, acknowledged that she was the in¬ 
stigator of the whole affair and therefore responsible 
for helping her companions out of a decidedly awk¬ 
ward situation. • 


187 


Peachy’s Pranks 

The gentleman in the soft hat was still sitting 
under the shadow of the rock smoking, but he rose 
and threw away his cigar as the deputation of three 
advanced to address him. Peachy, in her very best 
Italian, began to stammer out an explanation and 
excuses. He listened for a moment or two, then 
shook his head and interrupted. 

“Sorry I don’t speak much Italian. I’m afraid I 
don’t quite understand.” 

“O-o-h! You’re American!” gasped Peachy, her 
face one broad smile of relief. “We—we thought 
you were Count Sutri.” 

“I haven’t that honor! I’m only plain Mr. Bond. 
I’ve taken the Count’s villa, though, for two months. 
Can I be of any service to you?” 

“We’re Americans too,” sparkled Peachy; “at 
least Delia and I are. We’re at school at the Villa 
Camellia up there. I—I’m sorry to say we’re tres¬ 
passing here. We climbed over the wall into your 
garden and came down the passage to the shore, and 
now the door’s locked and we can’t get back again.” 

“And it’s nearly preparation time,” added Delia 
desperately. 

Mr. Bond’s eyes twinkled with amusement. 

“I’ll take you back,” he offered. “It was hard 
luck to find the door locked. I’ve hardly explored 
the place properly myself yet. I came down in the 
lift.” 

“The lift!” exclaimed Irene in surprise. 

“Yes, here it is, and a very convenient arrange- 


188 The Joiliest School of All 

ment too,” said Mr. Bond, leading the way into an 
artificial cave close at hand. 

Here to the girls’ amazement was a perfectly mod¬ 
ern and up-to-date “ascenseur,” nicely upholstered 
and lighted by electricity. Mr. Bond ushered his 
visitors inside, closed the door, pressed a button, 
and immediately they shot aloft, landing ulti¬ 
mately in a kiosk in Count Sutri’s garden at the top 
of the cliff. Feeling as if a magician had used oc¬ 
cult means to transport them back to safety, the girls 
gazed round highly delighted to find themselves out 
of the cove. Their host, to whom they hastily con¬ 
fided some details of how they had penetrated into 
his premises, fetched a ladder, and by its aid they 
mounted to the roof of the shed, and skipped over 
the wall on to the top of their own wood-hut. 

“You won’t tell Miss Rodgers?” begged Peachy, 
waving a good-by to their rescuer after they had 
all protested their gratitude. 

“I guess I know how to keep a secret,” he laughed. 
“I won’t betray you. Hope you’ll be in time. There 
goes your school bell. You’ve run it fine but I be¬ 
lieve you’ll just do it if you hustle up.” 

Three breathless girls, with minds much too agi¬ 
tated to apply themselves properly to French trans¬ 
lation, slipped into the Villa Camellia at the eleventh 
hour, and answered “present” as their names were 
read on the roll-call. Peachy’s disheveled hair drew 
down a rebuke from Miss Bickford, but this was such 
a very minor evil that she took it meekly, smoothed 


189 


Peachy’s Pranks 

the offending elf-locks with her fingers, and com¬ 
posed her dimples to an expression of docile hu¬ 
mility. 

“We got out of that very well,” she purred in 
private afterwards. 

“Thanks to Mr. Bond and the lift,” agreed Irene. 
“I guess I’m not going to try anything so risky 
again,” declared Delia. “It was the fix of my life. 
I’ll be down with nervous prostration to-morrow. 
Shouldn’t wonder if I raise a temperature to-night. 
Peachy Proctor, you may coax and tease as you like, 
but nothing you say will ever induce me to climb 
that wall and go into Count Sutri’s garden again. 
It’s not worth the thrills. Sorry to be a crab, but 
I mean it.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


The Villa Bleue 

Delia’s good resolution remained only half ful¬ 
filled, for after all she visited Count Sutri’s cove 
again. This time, however, it was in a perfectly 
orthodox fashion. Mr. and Mrs. Bond, meeting 
Miss Morley at the house of an American resident 
in Fossato, invited the whole school to come and 
view the garden on Sunday afternoon, and clad in 
their best dresses the girls paraded in through the 
gate, and were shown the beauties of the lovely 
grounds. They were taken in relays down in the lift 
to the creek by the sea, and afterwards entertained 
with ice-cream and biscuits on the terrace in front 
of the villa, which was all very interesting and de¬ 
lightful, though not nearly so exciting as the surrep¬ 
titious peep which the naughty trio had previously 
obtained on their own account. Mr. Bond might 
indeed be silent on the subject of that afternoon’s 
adventure, but the expedition into his grounds had 
been only a part of Peachy’s pranks in her game 
of “Follow the Leader,” and for one of her sins 
at any rate she was to be called to account. The 
cistern on the top of the roof supplied a tap on 

the upper landing from which Anastasia, one of the 

190 


The Villa Bleue 191 

chambermaids, was accustomed to draw water with 
which to fill the bedroom jugs. 

On the morning after the events just narrated she 
took her can as usual, but was utterly horrified, 
when she turned the tap, to find the water running 
red. She was intensely superstitious, and imme¬ 
diately jumped to the conclusion that she was the 
victim of witchcraft, so she flung her apron over her 
head, commenced to sob, and deplored the early 
death which would probably overtake her. She sat 
on the landing making quite a scene, prophesying 
evil to the other servants who crowded round to 
condole and marvel, and showing the bewitched 
water in her jug with a mixture of importance and 
horror. The girls who occupied rooms on the upper 
landing were duly thrilled, and, after debating every 
possible or impossible solution of the mystery, were 
on the point of carrying the tale to Miss Rodgers 
when Peachy came hurrying along. 

“I’ve only just heard. Don’t, don’t go to the 
‘Ogre’s Den’ about it. If you love me don’t. I 
guess I know what’s happened. The water’s not 
bewitched. If you’ve any sense left in your silly head 
come with me on to the roof and we’ll look at the 
cistern. We’ll soon find out what’s the matter. Cal- 
lie, lend me your butterfly-net, that’s a saintly girl!” 

Anastasia, though somewhat protesting, allowed 
herself to be persuaded, and went with Peachy first 
to the kitchen floor and then up the iron staircase to 
the roof. Approaching the cistern Peachy climbed 


192 The Jolliest School of All 

on to its edge, lowered her butterfly-net, and pres¬ 
ently fished up a wet and draggled scarlet ribbon 
which stained her fingers red as she held it out to 
Anastasia’s astonished gaze. 

“I guess it’s this that has been bleeding inside the 
tank and has stained the water,” she explained. 

“But, Signorina, I ask how it place itself there?” 
demanded the still puzzled chambermaid in her halt¬ 
ing English, then mother-wit overmastering native 
superstition, she burst into laughter. “Oh! Oh! 
Oh! It is no magic but you, Signorina. Who hid 
my towels? I go to tell Mees Rodgers. Yes! You 
shall get into very big scrape!” 

“No, Anastasia, don’t tell,” implored Peachy. 
“It was only a joke. Look here! Are you fond of 
chocolates? I had a box sent me yesterday, and you 
shall have them all. It won’t do any good to tell 
Miss Rodgers, will it?” 

“You not come on to this roof again and touch my 
towels?” conceded Anastasia doubtfully. 

“Never! I promise faithfully.” 

“Then I not tell.” 

“Good! You’re a white angel. I’ll square the 
girls and get them not to mind washing in pink water 
for a day or two. It ought to improve their com¬ 
plexions. So we’ll just say nothing at all about it 
at headquarters. That’s settled. Anastasia, your 
English is improving wonderfully; I guess I’ll teach 
you some American next—-it’s the finest language in 
the world. Botheration, I’ve soused Callie’s but- 


193 


The Villa Bleue 

terfly-net. I don’t know what she’ll say about it. 
I’m out of one scrape into another the whole time. 
Well, I’d rather face Callie than Miss Rodgers any¬ 
how. She may storm, but she can’t give me bad 
marks or stop my next exeat. Come along, Anas¬ 
tasia. We’ll take the ribbon with us to show as a 
trophy. It will give them a little bit of a surprise 
downstairs if I’m not mistaken.” 

Owing to luck, and to the kindness of Anastasia, 
Peachy’s pranks did not on this occasion meet with 
any punishment. Irene, who had been greatly fear¬ 
ing an exposure of the whole escapade, once more 
breathed freely. If the matter had come to the 
ears of Miss Rodgers the three girls would certainly 
have been “gated,” and Irene was particularly anx¬ 
ious not to lose her approaching exeat. It was her 
turn to go to tea at the Villa Bleue, and she was 
looking forward greatly to the occasion. It would 
be her first visit, for she had forfeited her privilege 
earlier in the term, when she and Lorna lost them¬ 
selves among the olive groves. Much to their satis¬ 
faction the buddies were invited together, in com¬ 
pany with Mary, Sheila, Monica, and Winnie, who 
were also on the good conduct list. Of course there 
was considerable prinking in front of the looking- 
glasses, careful adjusting of hair ribbons and other 
trifles of toilet, before the girls considered them¬ 
selves in party trim and ready to do credit to the 
Villa Camellia. Escorted by Miss Brewster, who 
acted chaperon, or “policewoman” as Sheila in* 





194 The Jolliest School of All 

sisted on calling her, they walked in orderly file 
down the eucalyptus avenue to the town, past the 
hotel, along the esplanade, and up a steep incline to 
the Villa Bleue. The hospitable little parsonage 
seemed an exact materialization of the personality of 
its owners. Canon and Mrs. Clark were both 
small and smiling and charitable and particularly 
kind, and their tiny unpretentious dwelling, with 
its sunny aspect and its flowers and its pet birds, 
was absolutely in keeping with their tone of mind. 
From some houses seem to emanate certain men¬ 
tal atmospheres, as if they reflected the sum total 
of the thoughts that have collected there, and sensi¬ 
tive visitors receive subconscious impressions of 
chilly magnificence, intellectual activity or a spirit of 
general tolerance. 

The Villa Bleue always felt radiant with kind and 
cheery impulses, and its flower-covered walls seemed 
almost to shine as the girls, secure of a welcome, 
parted from Miss Brewster, and ran up the steps 
to the pleasant veranda. Mrs. Clark made them at 
home at once. She had six cosy basket-chairs wait¬ 
ing for them, and a plateful of most delicious al¬ 
mond taffy, and she installed them to sit and admire 
the view, while she talked and put them at their ease. 
Schoolgirls are notoriously bashful visitors, and in 
certain circumstances all six would have been 
mum as mice and entirely devoid of conversation 
except a conventional yes or no, but with dear Mrs. 
Clark’s beaming face and warm-hearted manner to 


195 


The Villa Bleue 

• » 

disarm their shyness they were perfectly natural, and 
enjoyed themselves as entirely as if they were at a 
dormitory tea or a sorority supper. The best part 
about Mrs. Clark was that she had the happy knack 
of forgetting her age and throwing herself back 
into the mental environment of sixteen. She was 
certainly not a stiff hostess; indeed her treatment 
of her guests was less conventional than that adopted 
by Rachel Moseley at the prefects’ parties; she 
laughed and chatted and asked questions about the 
school, till in a few minutes the girls were chatter¬ 
ing like sparrows and behaving as if they had known 
her for years. 

Tea was set out on little basket tables in the ver¬ 
anda, and there were all the delicious home-made 
things for which the Villa Bleue had gained a just 
reputation—brown scones and honey, potato cakes, 
Scotch shortbread, buttered oatmeal biscuits, iced 
lemon sandwich cake, and chocolate fingers. 

When tea was taken away and the basket tables 
were once more free, Mrs. Clark produced dainty 
cards and scarlet pencils and organized a competi¬ 
tion. It was entitled “Nursery Rhymes,” and con¬ 
tained twenty questions to be answered by the com¬ 
petitors. These ran as follows: 

NURSERY RHYMES COMPETITION 

1. Who made Cock Robin’s shroud? 

2. Who was exhausted by family cares? 


196 The Jolliest School of All 

3. Who disliked insects? 

4. Who showed an interest in horticulture? 

5. Who summoned an orchestra? 

6. Who pursued matrimonial intentions without the 

parental sanction? 

7. Who showed religious intolerance? 

8. Who took a joint that did not belong to him? 

9. Who deplored the loss of hand gear? 

10. Whose salary was restricted owing to slackness in 

work? 

11. What animal pursued horological investigations? 

12. Who made the record high jump? 

13. Who wore a superfluity of jewelry? 

14. Whose culinary efforts were temporarily confiscated? 

15. Who pulled Pussy from the well? 

16. Who slept instead of attending to business? 

17. Who exhibited sanctimonious satisfaction over a meal? 

18. Who lost a number of domestic animals? 

19. Who had an accident during the performance of their 

duty? 

20. Who was mutilated by a bird? 


Some of the questions seemed easy and some were 
difficult. The girls sat puzzling over them, and writ¬ 
ing the answers when they got inspiration. Irene 
scribbled away delightedly, but Lorna, who had al¬ 
most forgotten the nursery rhymes of her childhood, 
was in much mystification, and only filled in a few 
of the vacant spaces. Numbers 6, 7, 13 and 14 
proved the most baffling and no one was able to solve 
all twenty. 


197 


The Villa Bleue 

After allowing a considerable laxity in respect of 
time Mrs. Clark rang the bell and declared the com¬ 
petition closed. The girls changed cards, and waited 
with interest while their hostess read out the an¬ 
swers. 


ANSWERS TO NURSERY RHYMES 
COMPETITION 

1. I, said the beetle, 

With my thread and needle. 

2. The old woman who lived in a shoe. 

3. Miss Mullet. 

4. Mary, Mary, quite contrary. 

5. Old King Cole, who called for his fiddlers three. 

6. Froggie would a-wooing go, 

Whether his mother would let him or no. 

7. Goosey goosey gander, 

Whither do you wander, 

Upstairs, downstairs, 

In my lady’s chamber. 

There I met an old man 
Who wouldn’t say his prayers, 

So I took him by the left leg 
And threw him down the stairs. 

8. Taffy was a Welshman, 

Taffy was a thief, 

Taffy came to my house 
And stole a piece of beef. 

9. Three little kittens 
Lost their mittens 
And they began to cry. 


198 The Jolliest School of All 

10. Johnny shall have a new master 
And he shall have but a penny a day, 

Because he won’t work any faster. 

11. Dickery, dickery, dock! 

The mouse ran up the clock! 

12. The cow jumped over the moon. 

13. The fair lady of Banbury Cross. 

Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes 
She shall have music wherever she goes. 

14. The Queen of Heart’s tarts. 

15. Little Tommy Trout. 

16. Little Boy Blue. 

17. Little Jack Horner. 

18. Little Bo Peep. 

19. Jack and Jill. 

20. The maid was in the garden 
Hanging out the clothes, 

When by came a blackbird 
And nipped off her nose. 

There was a good deal of laughter over the com¬ 
petition and much counting up of marks. Irene, who 
had scored eighteen out of the possible twenty, came 
out top, and was accordingly handed the pretty little 
photograph frame which formed the prize. 

“I only got six,” mourned Lorna. “I was a per¬ 
fect duffer at it.” 

“I had fifteen,” purred Sheila, “but I couldn’t for 
the life of me remember who made Cock Robin’s 
shroud, or who pulled Pussy out of the well.” 

“It’s such ages since I read any nursery rhymes,” 
said Monica. 


The Villa Bleue 


199 


“That’s just the fun of it, of course!” declared 
Mary. “Did you make up the questions, Mrs. 
Clark?” 

“No, I got the Canon to compose them. He’ll 
be glad you liked them. Oh, here he comes. He had 
to go to a committee meeting this afternoon. Did 
you get tea, dear, at Major Littleton’s?” (to her 
husband). “That’s right! Then sit down on this 
comfy chair and entertain us, please.” 

“Rather a big order,” laughed Canon Clark, shak¬ 
ing hands with his young visitors, and taking the 
proffered seat. “How do you want to be enter¬ 
tained? No sermons to-day?” and his eyes twinkled. 
“Don’t all speak at once. I’m beginning to get 
nervous!” 

“You can tell the most beautiful stories,” sug¬ 
gested Sheila, who had paid visits before to the Villa 
Bleue and knew the capabilities of her host. 

“Oh, yes, please, do tell us a story!” agreed the 
others. “We’d like it better than anything.” 

“I have one inside my desk which is just ready to 
send off to a magazine. If it won’t bore you to listen 
to it, I’ll read it aloud and let you judge whether 
it has any interest in it or not. An audience of 
schoolgirls ought to be severe critics. As a rule 
they’re omnivorous readers of fiction. If you turn it 
down I shall tear it up.” 

“Oh, but we shan’t!” 

“Please begin!” 

Thus urged, Canon Clark fetched a manuscript 


200 The Jolliest School of All 

from his study, and after passing round the plate of 
taffy, to “sweeten his narrative” as he put it, he sat 
down in his basket-chair on the veranda and began 
to read. 

“THE LUCK OF DACREPOOL 

“I had known Jack Musgrave out East; we had 
chummed at Mandalay, messed together at Singa¬ 
pore, hunted big game up in Kashmir, and shot tigers 
in Bengal, and, when we said good-by, as he 
boarded the homeward-bound steamer at Madras, 
it was with a cordial invitation on his part that I 
should look him up if ever I happened to penetrate 
into the remote corner of Cumberland where his 
family acres were situated. 

“For a year or two my affairs kept me in India, 
and nothing seemed more unlikely than that—for the 
present, at any rate—Jack and I should cross paths 
again, but by one of those strange chances which 
sometimes occur in this world I found myself, on the 
Christmas Eve of 190-, standing on the platform of 
Holdergate Station, having missed the connection 
for Scotland, and with the pleasing prospect before 
me of spending the night, and possibly—if trains 
were not available—the ensuing Christmas Day at 
the one very second-rate inn in the village. 

“It was then that I remembered that Holdergate 
was the nearest station to Dacrepool Grange, and 
that, if Jack’s memory still held good, I might find a 


201 


The Villa Bleue 

hearty welcome and spend a pleasant evening recall¬ 
ing old times and discussing past shots, instead of 
putting up with the inferior accommodation offered 
by the landlady of the King’s Arms. As no one 
either at the station or in the village seemed willing 
to vouchsafe me definite information as to whether 
the owner of Dacrepool was at home or abroad, 
parrying my inquiries with such scant courtesy and 
in so uncouth and unintelligible a dialect as to be 
scarce understood, I resolved to chance it, and with 
some difficulty hiring a farmer’s gig, I started out on 
a six-mile drive over the bleak moorlands, which 
seemed to stretch as far as the eye could reach in a 
dim vista of brown heath and distant snow-clad fell. 
It was a dreary and unseasonable evening, with a 
damp mist rising from the sodden ground, and 
occasional falls of sleet, mingled with rain that 
chilled one to the bone. I buttoned my coat closely 
round my throat, and braced my nerves to meet the 
elements, hoping I might find my reward at the end 
of my journey, and inwardly cursing every mile of 
the rough road. 

“But even Cumberland miles cannot wind on for¬ 
ever, and my Jehu at length drew up at a massive 
stone gateway, which he assured me formed the 
entrance to Dacrepool Grange. There was neither 
light nor sound in the lodge, nor did any one come 
out in answer to our impatient calls, so we had per¬ 
force to open the gates for ourselves. They creaked 
on their rusty hinges, as if they had not been un- 


202 The Jolliest School of All 

closed for many a day, and when I noted the neg¬ 
lected drive, where the overhanging trees swept 
our faces as we passed, I began to fear that I had 
come on a fool’s errand, and that I should find 
the house shut up and my friend abroad. 

“On this point, however, my driver reassured me. 
‘Nay, oo’be to home, theer’s a light i’ yon winder,’ 
he said, pointing with his whip where a faint streak 
of yellow shone like a beacon into the surrounding 
gloom. The moon was struggling through the 
clouds, and I could dimly discern the outline of the 
quaint gabled front of the house, with its mullioned 
windows, and masses of clinging ivy. Dismounting 
at the old stone porch, I seized the knocker and beat 
a mighty tattoo. There was no reply. Even the light 
had disappeared from the window almost simultane¬ 
ously with the approach of our carriage wheels, and 
though I hammered for fully five minutes I failed to 
obtain the slightest response to my knocks. I was 
on the point of turning away in despair and driving 
back in the gig to Holdergate, when a sound of foot¬ 
steps was heard within, together with an unbolting 
and unbarring, the door was opened about six inches 
on the chain, and a hard-featured woman peeped 
cautiously out into the darkness. 

“I at once proclaimed my identity and my errand, 
but, by the light of the candle which she held in her 
hand, she looked me up and down with a glance of 
keen distrust and evident disfavor. ‘How am I to 


203 


The Villa Bleue 

know it is as you say?’ she replied guardedly, and 
without making any move to grant me admittance. 

“ ‘Then fetch your master,’ I exclaimed with some 
heat, thrusting my card into her hand. ‘He should 
know my name at any rate, though he seems to have 
trained you in strange notions of hospitality to keep 
a guest standing on the doorstep on a bitter evening 
in December.’ 

“Grumbling under her breath she went away, and 
I was half inclined to follow her example and quit 
this very unpromising spot, when a quick step re¬ 
sounded in the hall, the door was flung open wide, 
and I was dragged forcibly into the house by my 
friend Jack, who hailed me with such unfeigned 
delight and enthusiasm that there could be little 
doubt of the genuineness of his welcome. 

“ ‘You’ve sprung upon us at a queer time, as it 
happens, old man, but if you don’t mind taking pot- 
luck we’ll spend a ripping night together,’ he cried, 
hauling me into the dining-room, where a pretty 
fairy of a girl sprang up to greet us. ‘This is my 
sister Bessie, and I’ve talked about you so often that 
she’ll give you as big a welcome as I do. It’s only 
a poor best we can show you in the way of enter¬ 
tainment, but you’ll make allowances when I tell you 
how I’m situated, and what we lack in kind we must 
make up in good will.’ 

“ ‘What’s good enough for you will be good 
enough for me,’ I replied heartily, submitting to be 


204 The Jolliest School of All 

relieved of my coat and installed in the best chair 
by the blazing fire—a pleasant change indeed from 
the cold and the sleet outside. 

“ ‘You must not think our guests usually receive 
such a churlish reception,’ said Jack, laughing a 
little, ‘but the fact is, we took you for the bailiffs. 
I’m sorry to say I’ve outrun the constable—it’s 
really not my fault, for the old place was mortgaged 
to its last penny when it fell to me—but, as the case 
stands, I’m enduring a kind of siege; daren’t put 
my nose out of my own door for fear I should be 
served with writs, and have to smuggle what supplies 
we can beg or borrow through the kitchen window. 
It’s a queer kind of Christmas to spend, and a poor 
lookout for the New Year, for I’m afraid the old 
place is bound to go in the end, though I have vowed 
to stick to it as long as I can hold it, and Bessie 
has vowed to stick to me, though she might have a 
more cheerful home elsewhere if she liked. There’s 
precious little to offer you in our larder, but perhaps 
we can furnish up something in the way of supper; 
can’t we, Bessie?’ 

“Miss Musgrave laughed merrily. 

“ ‘Mr. Harper must imagine himself back in 
camp,’ she replied; ‘I hope he can manage to subsist 
on porridge and cheese and tinned provisions, for 
I don’t think we have anything better to offer him.’ 

“I would have subsisted on a far poorer diet to 
remain within sight of those bright eyes, and I en¬ 
deavored to convince my host and hostess that I 


205 


The Villa Bleue 

desired nothing more than to be treated as one of 
themselves, with such success that I seemed to drop 
at once into the family circle, and never spent a 
pleasanter or more jovial evening in my life. Jack 
and I sat up late after Bessie had retired, chatting 
of bygone days and past adventures till the jungles 
and plains seemed almost more real than the cheery 
blaze of the fire before us; but the talk came round 
at last to the affairs of the moment. 

“ ‘Is not there any plan by which you could raise 
the wind, Jack?” I inquired. 

“ ‘Never a one. Fve tried every end up, but there 
seems no way out of the trouble unless, indeed, we 
could find Sir Godfrey’s treasure.’ 

“ ‘Who’s he?’ 

“ ‘An ancestor of mine, rather a back number, con¬ 
sidering he died somewhere about two hundred and 
fifty years ago—but a restless old gentleman, for he 
is still said to have a trick of haunting the house, 
and, according to popular tradition, hoping to be 
able to point out the hiding-place of a treasure he 
stowed away.’ 

“ ‘Was it genuine treasure?’ 

“ ‘I believe so. He went off to fight in the Civil 
Wars, and hid the family plate and jewels in a secure 
place which nobody knew of but himself. He had 
not the sense to leave any record of the spot, and 
when he was killed at Naseby his secret died with 
him, and the valuables—unless, as I sometimes sus¬ 
pect, the old chap had previously pledged them— 


206 The Jolliest School of All 

were not forthcoming, nor have they ever been heard 
of since.’ 

“ ‘Has he ever appeared to you?’ 

u ‘Not he; I only wish he would. The hoard 
would be a jolly windfall to me if I could manage to 
light upon it. But I’m not the kind who goes about 
seeing ghosts. I’m too plain and matter-of-fact by 
half, and, though I often hear mysterious taps on the 
panels of my bedroom, I prosaically set it down to 
rats and mice. Now, you’re a psychic sort of a fel¬ 
low, the seventh son of a seventh son; if he wants to 
make himself visible, perhaps you may get a sight of 
him; I’m afraid it’s more than ever I shall.’ 

“ ‘Is there no clew at all left as to the hiding-place 
of the treasure?’ I inquired. 

“ ‘Only an old rhyme so obscure as to be quite 
unintelligible: 

He who plucks a rose at Yule 
Will bring back luck to Dacrepool. 

Even you, with your fondness for antiquities and 
rummaging strange things out of old books, can 
scarcely make anything of that, I should say.’ 

“I shook my head, for the riddle seemed quite 
unreadable, and as we had already sat up until long 
past midnight I begged for my candle, and proposed 
to defer our conversation until the morning. Jack, 
declaring that none of the beds in the damp old 
house was fit to sleep in without a week of previous 


207 


The Villa Bleue 

airing, insisted upon giving up his room to me, and 
passing the night himself on the dining-room sofa, 
and, in spite of my protestations, I was forced to 
acquiesce in his plans for my comfort. 

“Left alone, I looked with some curiosity round 
the gloomy oak-paneled chamber, where the fire¬ 
light flashed on the carved four-poster, with its faded 
yellow damask curtains, and lit up the moth-eaten 
tapestry that adorned a portion of the upper part 
of the walls, but scarcely illumined the dark corners 
w T hich lay beyond. There were quaint old presses 
and chests roomy enough to hide a dozen ghosts in, 
and a portrait of a gentleman in the elaborate cos¬ 
tume of the Stuart period seemed to look down upon 
me with strangely haunting eyes. 

“ ‘A spooky enough place,’ I murmured, ‘hallowed 
by the spirits of numerous generations, no doubt. 
Well, I’ll undertake they won’t disturb me to-night, 
for I am dog-tired and mean to sleep like a log.’ 

“I am an old traveler, and was soon in bed and 
enjoying a well-earned slumber, but my dreams were 
wild, for I seemed now to be driving furiously over 
the moorland, pursuing ever the phantom of pretty 
Bessie, who, with her bewitching smile, was luring 
me into the fog and darkness, and now to be bar¬ 
ring the front door to defend her from some un¬ 
known assailant, whose perpetual rapping rang like 
an echo through my brain. With the impotent 
strength of dreamland I struggled vainly to close 
the door, which was opening slowly to admit the 


208 The Jolliest School of All 

nameless horror. I seemed to feel a hot breath on 
my cheek, and with a wild shriek I woke, to find the 
moonlight streaming in through the broad diamond- 
paned window, falling in a white shaft across the 
floor, while the last embers of the fire were smolder¬ 
ing to ashes upon the hearth. 

“I sat up in bed with that feeling of broad 
awakeness and alertness which comes to us some¬ 
times, and caught my breath as I listened, for 
through the stillness of the night came the unmis¬ 
takable sound of a gentle tapping from behind the 
paneling of the wall. It was not continuous, but 
more as one might rap at the chamber door of a 
sleeping person, waiting every now and then to hear 
if one had obtained a response. An intense and 
vivid sensation came over me that I was not alone 
in the room; that there was some presence other 
than my own personality which was striving in some 
way to force itself upon my consciousness and arrest 
my attention. Was it only my fancy, or were the 
moonbeams actually shaping themselves into a hu¬ 
man form, till against the dark background of the 
fireplace, I seemed to see the misty shadowy outline 
of a figure, so vague and ethereal that even as I 
looked it appeared to melt again into the moonlight 
and cease to exist? 

“With every nerve on the stretch I strained my 
eyes to gain a clearer impression. A passing cloud 
left the room for a few moments in darkness, but, 
as the beams shone out full and clear once 


209 


The Villa Bleue 

more, that shadowy figure seemed to gather sub¬ 
stance, and I felt as if some unknown force 
were compelling my attention and chaining my every 
sense in a mute endeavor to establish some chord 
of connection between me and the dim spirit world 
which floats forever round us. Now waxing, now 
waning, the vision grew, till I fancied I caught a 
glint of armor. For an instant a wild imploring 
glance met my own, and a transparent finger pointed 
to the richly-carved paneling below the arras, but 
as I sprang from the bed the vision faded swiftly 
away, leaving me standing on the floor in the calm 
moonlight doubting the evidence of my senses, and 
half convinced that I must still have been in the con¬ 
tinuance of my dream. 

“Yet, as I looked, something in the carved panel¬ 
ing struck my notice, and, following the direction in 
which the spectral finger had pointed, I saw that the 
dragons and the twisted scrolls were united in the 
center by a Tudor rose. In an instant there flashed 
across my mind the old saying which Jack had 
quoted: 


He who plucks a rose at Yule 
Will bring back luck to Dacrepool. 

What impulse urged me I cannot say, but compelled 
by some seemingly irresistible suggestion I seized the 
sculptured rose and wrenched at it with all my 
strength. There was a dull thud, followed by a 


210 The Jolliest School of All 

harsh grinding noise, and the whole of the paneling 
slid slowly back, revealing a cavity behind, where, 
half hidden by the accumulations of dust and 
cobwebs, I could catch a sight of silver tankards and 
masses of plate enough to make the mouth of a col¬ 
lector water with envy. Still scarcely certain whether 
I was sleeping or waking, I put in my hand and drew 
out a bag filled with something heavy, and even as 
I did so the rotten mildewed canvas broke with the 
strain, and a stream of golden coins descended with 
a clatter upon the floor. 

“Like a maniac I rushed to my door and hallooed 
lustily for Jack, who, roused by my shouts, came 
hurrying up in scanty attire, with a revolver in one 
hand and a poker in the other. 

“‘What is it, old man, thieves or bailiffs? Just 
hold ’em till I come, can’t you?’ 

“ ‘It’s neither,’ I replied, as I hauled him in with 
triumph, ‘but I believe I have had a visit from 
your esteemed ancestor, and, as a Christmas gift, 
allow me to introduce you to the long-lost family 
treasure.’ 

“There was no mistake about it—it was real 
enough, and, as the Christmas bells came chiming 
through the frosty air, we turned out bags of gold, 
piles of silver and priceless jewels warranted to re¬ 
deem Dacrepool Grange twice over if necessary, and 
sending Jack into a very ecstasy of joy. 

“ ‘By Jove, old chap,’ he exclaimed, ‘I owe it all 
to you. Here I’ve slept in this room for years, and 


211 


The Villa Bleue 

never paid any heed to the raps and taps, though 
I’ve heard them often enough, while the treasure 
was under my very nose, only waiting to be dis¬ 
covered. Then you come along with your ghost- 
seeing eyes, and the spirit, if spirit it was, is able to 
convey to you the secret it’s been trying to get off 
its mind for hundreds of years. You’ve saved me 
from the bankruptcy court, and it’s a debt of grati¬ 
tude you’ll find I shan’t lightly forget.’ 

“It was a very jovial Christmas which we spent 
that day, for the news of the find got abroad at 
daylight, and we were promptly visited by the 
butcher and baker, bringing stores of good cheer 
and profuse apologies for past misunderstandings; 
even the severe old servant relapsed into smiles as 
she bore in a smoking sirloin of beef. Jack’s spirits 
rose to the wildest pitch, and little Bessie, who per¬ 
sisted in calling me the savior of the family credit, 
could scarcely do enough to show her gratitude. 
Jack wanted me to share the best of the jewels with 
him, and was so annoyed at my refusal that I could 
only gain peace by a hint that I should sometime 
ask him for something more valuable still. And I 
got my way, for my unexpected visit lengthened out 
to a stay of some weeks, during which pretty Bessie’s 
gratitude had time to ripen into a warmer feeling. 
So in the end it was quite a different treasure which 
I bore away from Dacrepool Grange, and I feel 
equally with Jack that I have cause to remember 
that strange Christmas Eve, and to render my thanks 


212 The Jolliest School of All 

to old Sir Godfrey, who now sleeps soundly in his 
grave, secure in the accomplishment of his mission, 
having rid his soul of the burden of his secret and 
restored luck to Dacrepool.” 

“Is it true?” asked Sheila, as Canon Clark folded 
up his manuscript. 

“Well, I can hardly call it a personal reminiscence, 
but you must allow for author’s license. Old his¬ 
toric houses sometimes have secret hiding-places, and 
dreams are undoubtedly strange things. It’s all 
founded upon legends which I have heard. Mrs. 
Clark and I first met in an ancient grange not at all 
unlike Dacrepool, didn’t we, Bess? And if we didn’t 
find treasure behind the paneling we certainly ought 
to have done so. Now I’m extremely sorry to have 
to hurry you, but I promised Miss Morley that you 
should be back at school by half past six, and I under¬ 
took to escort you through the town. I hope you’ll 
all come and have tea with us some afternoon next 
term and we’ll have another competition. Don’t say 
good-by to Mrs. Clark. Give the Italian ‘A rive- 
derci’ instead, because that means not a parting 
greeting but ‘May we see one another again.’ ” 


CHAPTER XV 

Peachy’s Birthday 

Delia Watts, walking one afternoon along the 
lemon pergola, came across a small group of Camel¬ 
lia Buds ensconced in a cozy corner at the foot of the 
steps by the fountain. 

“Hello! You’ve found a dandy place here. You 
look so comfy. May I join on?” she chirped. 

“Sur dee!” said Jess cordially, pushing Irene far¬ 
ther along to make room. “Come and squat down, 
dearie, and add your voice to the powwow. We’re 
just discussing something fearfully urgent and im¬ 
portant. Do you know it’ll be Peachy’s birthday 
next week?” 

“Of course I know. Nobody could room with 
Peachy and not hear about that. She’s the most 
excited girl on earth. She’s been promised a gold 
wrist-watch and a morocco hand-bag, and I can’t tell 
you what else, and she’s just living till she gets them. 
I wish it was my birthday. I’m jealous!” 

“Don’t be such a pig,” responded Jess. “You 
got your fun in the holidays. You can’t have things 
twice over. What we were talking about was this— 
the sorority ought to rally somehow and give Peachy 

a surprise. Can’t we get up a special stunt?” 

213 


214 The Jolliest School of All 

“Rather! Put me on the committee, please! 
Couldn’t we get leave for a dormitory tea? I know 
Miss Rodgers rather frowned on them last term, 
but perhaps if we wheedled Miss Morley she’d say 
‘yes.’ We’d promise to clear up and not make any 
mess, and to finish promptly before prep time. That 
ought to content her. What votes?” 

Every hand ascended with enthusiasm. 

“Good for you, Delia !” complimented Jess. “We 
haven’t had a dormitory tea for just ages; not, in 
fact, since Aggie upset the spirit-lamp. I think Miss 
Morley’s forgotten that now, though. You must do 
the asking yourself. You’re our champion wheedler. 
If anybody can soften Miss Morley’s hard heart 
it will be you. Tell her Peachy will be homesick, 
and we feel it’ll be our duty to cheer her up a little.” 

“I’ll pitch it as strong as I can,” said Delia, “but 
of course it’s no use going too far. Peachy doesn’t 
look a homesick subject in need of cheering. I’m 
afraid Miss Morley may snort if I put it on that 
score. I’d better just explain we want to have a 
stunt. I believe she’ll catch on. Leave it to me and 
I’ll try my best to manage her.” 

“Right-o! We give you carte blanche!” 

“Then I’ll waddle off now.” 

Delia’s success mostly depended upon tact. She 
judged that if she asked Miss Morley, tired at the 
end of a busy morning, she would probably meet with 
a curt refusal, but that if she found her, seated in 
her own bed-sitting-room, soothed with afternoon 


215 


Peachy’s Birthday 

tea and reading a delectable book, her sympathy 
would be much more readily aroused. On this oc¬ 
casion Delia’s judgment was correct. After a per¬ 
fectly harmonious interview with the Principal she 
scurried back to her fellow Camellia Buds, her face 
one satisfied grin. 

“She said, ‘Certainly, my dear!’ We may ask El¬ 
vira for a special teapot and a plate of bread and 
butter, and we may give Antonio three lira apiece to 
buy us cakes. We may do what we like so long as 
the room is tidy again before prep. She’ll send a 
prefect at 5.45 to inspect. If the place is in a mud¬ 
dle it’ll be the last time, so we’d better be careful, 
for I could see she meant that.” 

“We’re in luck!” cried Irene, giving a bounce of 
rapture. 

“It’s great!” 

“Yummy!” 

“I thought you’d congratulate me,” smirked 
Delia. “Now let’s get busy and decide what sort 
of a stunt we mean to have. Is Peachy to know, or is 
it to be a surprise?” 

“That’s the question! She’ll have to be told and 
invited and all the rest of it, but she needn’t hear 
any details beforehand. I vote we all arrange to 
come in fancy costume—that would really be a 
stunt.” 

“We shall have to tell Peachy that!” 

“No, you mustn’t. We’ll have a costume all ready 
prepared for her, like the wedding garment in the 


216 The Jolliest School of All 

parable. She’ll have nothing to do but slip it on.” 

If Peachy was looking forward to her own birth¬ 
day, her friends were anticipating the happy event 
with enthusiasm. They had decided to hold the 
festivities in her dormitory, but had required her to 
give a solemn pledge not to enter the room after 2 
p.m. so as to give them a free hand. During the 
half-hour before drawing-class they met, and held a 
“Decoration Bee.” Nine determined girls, who have 
prepared their materials, can work wonders in a 
short time, and in ten hurried minutes they accom¬ 
plished a vast amount. 

“Mary, lend a hand, and help me stand on the 
dressing table.” 

“She won’t know the place when she sees it!” 

“Aren’t we all busy bees!” 

“It begins to look rather nice, doesn't it?” 

“Don’t tug this chain! It’s tearing! Now you’ve 
done it!” 

“I flatter myself she’ll get the surprise of her 
life!” 

“Ra- ther!” 

With flags, paper chains, and garlands of flowers, 
the decorators contrived to make dormitory 13 look 
absolutely en fete. They borrowed a table from 
another bedroom, placed the two together, covered 
them with a cloth, and spread forth the cakes which 
Antonio had been commissioned to buy. 

“Elvira will fetch us the teapot and the bread 
and butter at four. We can yank into our costumes 


Peachy’s Birthday 217 

\ 

in a few seconds, so we needn’t waste much time. 
Don’t let Miss Darrer keep you dawdling about the 
studio,” urged Agnes. 

“No fear of that. The moment the bell goes it 
will be ‘down pencils.’ She can hold forth to the 
others to-day if she wants to talk after school. By 
the by, everybody’s so jealous of us!” 

“I know! The seniors are grumbling like any¬ 
thing because they didn’t think of having a bedroom 
tea for Phyllis. It’s their own fault. They haven’t 
another birthday amongst them this term. That’s 
the grievance. And Miss Morley won’t give leave 
for a dormitory stunt unless it’s somebody’s birth¬ 
day. She’s firm on that point. We’ve certainly all 
the luck.” 

The Camellia Buds pursued their art studies that 
afternoon with a certain abstraction. Peachy 
worked with her left wrist poised, so that she could 
obtain a perpetual view of the new gold watch that 
had arrived by post that morning; Delia frittered 
her time shamelessly; Esther was guilty of writing 
surreptitious messages to Joan upon the edges of 
her chalk copy of “Apollo”; and Irene, usually in¬ 
terested in her work, had a fit of the fidgets. The 
moment the bell sounded and the class was dismissed 
they bundled their pencils into their boxes, and left 
the studio with almost indecent haste. 

“Only an hour and a half altogether for our stunt 
doesn’t leave us much time to be polite,” remarked 
Aggie, smarting under a rebuke administered by 


218 The Jolliest School of All 

Miss Darrer, who had restrained their stampede 
and insisted upon an orderly retreat. “It’s all very 
well for people to saunter elegantly when they’ve 
nothing particular to do. I dare say the Italians 
may look dignified, but we can’t stalk about as if we 
were perpetually carrying water-pots on our heads.” 

“American girls have more energy than that. I’m 
just ready to fly to bits,” declared Delia, prancing 
down the passage like a playful kitten. 

“I give everybody five minutes to get on their 
costumes,” decreed Jess. “Peachy must stay outside 
in the passage and wait. I’ll tinkle my Swiss goat- 
bell when you’re all to come in.” 

Peachy, pulling a long face of protest, took her 
stand obediently in the corridor, while her three 
roommates entered dormitory 13. Their fancy 
dresses were lying ready on their beds, and they 
whisked into them with the utmost haste. 

“There! Is my cap on straight? Jess, you look 
fine! I guess we shan’t keep the crowd waiting. 
We’d earn our livings as quick-change artistes any 
day. Is that Elvira? Oh, thanks! Put the tea¬ 
pot down there, please. What a huge plate of bread 
and butter. We’ll never eat it! Mary, if you’re 
ready you might be uncovering the grub.” 

The girls had laid everything in preparation for 
their feast, and, to protect their dainties from flies, 
had put sheets of tissue paper over the table. Mary 
lifted these deftly, but as she removed them her 
smug satisfaction changed to a howl of dismay. 


Peachy’s Birthday 219 

Instead of the tempting dainties which they had 
placed there with their own hands stood a circle of 
bricks and stones. 

For a moment all three gazed blankly at the awful 
sight. Then they found speech. 

“Our beautiful cakes!” 

“Where are they?” 

“Who’s done this?” 

“Oh! the brutes!” 

“Who’s been in?” 

“How dare they?” 

“Wherever have they put them?” 

“Have they eaten them?” 

“Oh! What a shame!” 

“What are we to do?” 

It was indeed a desperate situation, for loud 
thumps at the door proclaimed the advent of the 
visitors, who seemed likely to be provided with a 
decidedly Barmecide feast. Delia, however, had an 
inspiration. She stooped on hands and knees and 
foraged under the beds, announcing by a jubilant 
screech that she had discovered the lost property. 
It did not take long to move away the stones and 
to transfer the plates from the floor to the table, 
after which three much flustered hostesses opened 
the door and gushed a welcome to their guests. It 
was rather a motley group who entered: Irene as 
a nun in waterproof and hood; Agnes as a Red 
Cross Nurse; Esther a Turk, with a towel for a 
turban; Joan a sportsman in her gymnasium knick- 


220 The Jolliest School of All 

ers; Sheila, in a tricolor cap, represented France; 
and Lorna was draped with the Union Jack; Jess 
with a plaid arranged as a kilt made a sturdy High¬ 
lander; Mary was an Irish colleen; while Delia, in 
a wrapper ornamental with fringes of tissue paper, 
stood for “Carnival.” A white dressing jacket 
trimmed with green leaves, and a garland of flowers 
were waiting for Peachy, and when the latter was 
popped on her head she was promptly proclaimed 
“Queen o’ the May.” Very much flattered by these 
preparations in her honor, the guest of the occasion 
took her place at the table. 

“Pm absolutely astounded,” she announced. 
“Where did you get all this spread? You don’t 
mean to tell me Antonio was allowed to go and buy 
it! It’s too topping for words!” 

“We thought it had gone out of the window, a 
moment ago,” said Jess, explaining their horrible 
predicament as she wielded the teapot. 

The Camellia Buds listened aghast. Somebody 
had evidently been playing a shameful trick upon 
them. 

“It’s Mabel!” 

“Or Bertha!” 

“No, no! They’d have taken the cakes quite 
away instead of only hiding them !” 

“Then it must be Winnie or Ruth!” 

“Quite likely. They knew we were having the 
party.” 

“The wretches!” 


221 


Peachy’s Birthday 

“We’ll pay them out afterwards!” 

“What a mean thing to do!” 

“They were honest, at any rate, and didn’t take so 
much as a biscuit.” 

“They’d have heard about it if they had!” 

“ ‘All’s well that ends well!’ ” 

“And we’d better clear the dishes while we can. 
Have another piece of iced sandwich, Mary!” 

“No, thanks! I really don’t want any more.” 

The Camellia Buds, having disposed of the feast, 
and having yet half an hour of the birthday party 
left on their hands, decided to hold what they called 
a “Mixed Recitation Stunt.” They sat in a circle on 
the floor and counted out till the lot fell upon one 
of them, whose pleasing duty it became to act enter¬ 
tainer for the next five minutes, when she was en¬ 
titled to hand the part on to somebody else. Fate, 
aided perhaps by a little gentle maneuvering, gave 
the first turn to Jess. 

“I adore poetry, but I never can remember it by 
heart,” she protested, “so don’t expect me to ‘speak 
a piece,’ please. No, I’m not trying to get out of 
it. I’ll do my bit the same as everybody else. Stop 
giggling and listen, because I’m going to tell you 
something spooky. It’s a real Highland story. It 
happened to an aunt of mine. Are you ready? Well 
then be quiet, because I’m going to begin: 

“I have an aunt who lives in the Highlands. Her 
name is Jessie M’Gregor. Yes, I’m named after 
her! Some of her family had had the gift of sec- 


222 The Jolliest School of All 

ond sight, but not all of them. Her grandmother 
had it very strongly, and used to foretell the strang¬ 
est things, and they always came true. Aunt Jessie 
was a seventh child. That’s always supposed to give 
people the power of seeing visions. If she’d been 
the seventh child of a seventh child then she’d have 
been a “spey wife” and foreseen the future, but 
she wasn’t that exactly. She came very near to it 
once, though, and that’s what I want to tell you 
about. Uncle Gordon was going to London, and, 
the day before he started, Auntie was sitting alone in 
the garden. She hadn’t been very well, so she was 
just leaning back in a deck-chair resting. She wasn’t 
asleep; she was looking at the view and thinking 
how lovely it all was. She could see right across 
the moor and down the valley where the river ran; 
the heather was in blossom and it was a glorious 
sight. Suddenly it seemed as if everything became 
blurred and dark, as if a mist were before her eyes. 
A patch cleared through the midst of this and‘she 
could see the valley below as if she were looking 
through an enormous telescope. The river had burst 
its banks, and was flowing all over the line, and 
through the flood came the train, and dashed into 
the water. She saw this vision only for a moment, 
then it passed. She rubbed her eyes and wondered 
if it was a dream. She decided it was a warning. 
She’s very superstitious. Most Highland people are. 
She didn’t want Uncle Gordon to go next day by the 
little train that ran down the valley, but she knew 


223 


Peachy’s Birthday 

if she told him her ‘vision’ he would only laugh 
at her. So she pretended she wanted to do some 
shopping at Aberfylde, a town fifteen miles away, 
where the local railway joins the main line. She 
told Uncle Gordon that if they motored there to¬ 
gether she could see him off on the London express, 
and then have a day’s shopping. So he agreed, and 
they went in the car. There was a tremendous 
storm in the night, and it was still raining when they 
started. Auntie spent the day in Aberfylde and 
motored back, and when she reached home she no¬ 
ticed the valley had turned into a lake. The terrific 
rain had swollen all the streams and made the river 
burst its banks, and the line was flooded, and it was 
impossible for the train to run. So her ‘vision’ really 
did come true after all. She’s ever so proud of it, 
and wrote it all down so that she shouldn’t forget 
it. That’s my story. Now it’s somebody else’s 
stunt. Let’s count out again.” 

Fortune cast the lot this time on Agnes, who 
wrinkled up her forehead and protested she didn’t 
know anything to tell, but, when urged, remembered 
something she had heard during the summer holi¬ 
days. 

“It’s true too!” she assured them. “We were 
staying at Tarana. We had a villa there. Water 
was very scarce, and we used to have two barrels of 
it brought every day on donkeyback by a woman 
whose business it was to act as carrier. Her name 
was Luigia, and she was very picturesque looking, 


224 The Jolliest School of All 

and had the most beautiful dark eyes, though she 
always looked fearfully sad. Daddy is fond of 
sketching, and he painted a picture of her standing 
with her donkey under the vines. We guessed some¬ 
how that she had a history, and we asked Sareda, 
our cook, about her. Sareda knew everybody in 
the place. She was a dear old gossip. She got 
quite excited over Luigia’s story. She said it had 
been the talk of Tarana at the time. Luigia used to 
be a lovely girl when she was young, and she was 
quite wealthy for a peasant, because she owned a 
little lemon grove on the hillside. She inherited 
it from her father, who was dead. Of course, be¬ 
cause she was beautiful and a village heiress, she 
soon found a sweetheart, and became engaged to 
Francesco, a fisherman who lived down on the Mar¬ 
ina. Everything was going on very happily, and the 
wedding was fixed, when suddenly it was found there 
was something wrong with Luigia’s glorious eyes. 
She went to a doctor in Naples, and he told her that 
unless a certain operation were performed she would 
go blind. If she went to Paris, to a specialist whom 
he named, her sight might be saved. Poor Luigia 
sold her lemon grove in a hurry, to get the neces¬ 
sary money, and packed up and started for Paris 
immediately. She was away six months, and she 
came back penniless, but seeing as well as ever. She 
trudged all the way from Liparo to Tarana, along 
the coast road, because she could not afford to take 
the train. When she walked into her own village, 


Peachy’s Birthday 225 

the first thing she saw was a wedding party leaving 
the church. She stopped to watch, and as the pro¬ 
cession passed her who should the gayly-dressed 
bridegroom prove to be but her own faithless sweet¬ 
heart Francesco. She screamed and fainted, and 
some kindly neighbors took her in and cared for 
her. She got work afterwards in the village, but 
she did not find a husband, because her lemon grove 
was sold, and these peasants will not marry a wife 
without a dowry. No wonder she looked so sad. 
We were always frightfully sorry for her.” 

Sheila, who was the next entertainer, recited a 
ballad; and Delia also “spoke a piece,” an amusing 
episode of child life, which she rendered with much 
humor. The next turn was Irene’s, and the girls, 
who were in a mood for listening, clamored for a 
story. 

“I haven’t any first-hand or original adventures,” 
she declared. “My aunts never have psychic ex¬ 
periences, and the people who brought us things to 
the door in London weren’t interesting in the least. 
If you like romance, though, I remember a tale in a 
little old, old book that belonged to my great grand¬ 
mother. It was supposed to be true, and I dare say 
it may have really happened, more than a hundred 
years ago, just as ‘The Babes in the Wood’ really 
happened in Norfolk in Elizabethan times. It’s 
about a girl named Mary Howard. Her father and 
mother died when she was only four years old, and 
she was left an orphan. She was heiress to a very 


226 The Jolliest School of All 

great property, and her uncle, Mr. John Howard, 
was made her guardian. She also had another uncle, 
Mr. Dallas, her mother’s brother, but he lived in 
Calcutta and she had never seen him. Mr. John 
Howard wished to get hold of. Mary’s estates for 
himself, so he laid a careful plot. First, he sent all 
the servants away, including her nurse, Betty Morris, 
who was devoted to her. Betty offered to stay on 
without wages, but when this was refused she be¬ 
came suspicious, and wrote a letter to Mr. Dallas 
warning him to look after his sister’s child. But 
it took many months in those days for a letter to 
get to Calcutta, and meantime Mr. Howard was 
pursuing a wicked scheme. Soon afterwards Betty 
heard that her charge had been stolen by gypsies for 
the sake of her amber beads, and could not be found 
anywhere. What had really happened was worse 
even than Betty had feared. Mr. Howard had 
hired a sailor, who was in desperate need of money, 
and bribed him to decoy the child away, take her to 
the seaside and there drown her. Robert, the sailor, 
fulfilled the first part of his bargain but not the sec¬ 
ond. He carried little Mary into a remote part of 
Wales, but he did not do her any harm. Instead, 
he became extremely fond of her and determined to 
save her from her uncle. So he bought a passage in 
a vessel bound for New Zealand and took her to 
sea with him, pretending she was his daughter. She 
was a sweet, gentle little creature, and soon became 
a favorite on board. 


Peachy’s Birthday 227 

“Among the crew was a Maori boy named Dua- 
terra, whose father was a great chief in New Zea¬ 
land. The Captain, for some offense, ordered this 
boy to be flogged, and Duaterra could not forgive 
the indignity. He planned a terrible revenge. 
When they reached New Zealand he persuaded the 
Captain and crew to land in his father’s territory; 
then, summoning his savage friends he ordered a 
general massacre and killed them all, saving only 
Robert and little Mary. Robert had been good to 
him and had given him tobacco, and Duaterra 
adored Mary, and called her his Mocking Bird. 
The Maoris plundered and burnt the ship after they 
had murdered the crew, but they were kind to Rob¬ 
ert and Mary, and built a native house for them. 
Here they lived for four years, for they had no op¬ 
portunity to escape. Robert married the chief’s 
daughter and settled down as a member of the tribe, 
but he became very anxious about little Mary. He 
knew that Duaterra looked upo/i her as his prospec¬ 
tive bride, and he could not bear to think of the 
lovely child ever becoming the wife of a savage. 

“One day a marvelous opportunity occurred for 
sending Mary home. A ship put in to obtain fresh 
water, and on the vessel happened to be an old 
friend of Robert’s, named John Morris, actually 
the brother of Betty Morris, Mary’s former nurse. 
Robert told John the whole story and begged him to 
take the little girl to England, and deliver her into 
Betty’s hands. He paid for her passage with the 


228 The Jolliest School of All 

money which Mr. Howard had given him as a bribe, 
and which, as he could not use money in New Zea¬ 
land, he had kept buried in the ground. Mary was 
carried on board ship when she was fast asleep at 
night, and poor Robert cried like a child at parting 
from her. John Morris proved a faithful friend. 
He took Mary to London, and sent a message to 
his sister Betty who was then living in Devonshire. 
When she arrived she was able to identify her nurs¬ 
ling, and to tell John that Mr. Dallas had arrived 
from Calcutta and had offered a large reward for 
the recovery of his niece. So Mary was placed under 
the guardianship of her mother’s brother, who took 
good care both of her and her estates, and the 
wicked uncle was so overcome with shame, when 
the story of his crime got about, that he went crazy 
and ended his days in a lunatic asylum.” 

“And the best place for him, too!” commented 
Jess. “He must have been a brute. I dare say 
things like that really did happen before there were 
daily papers to publish photos of lost children, and 
when the Maoris in New Zealand were still savages. 
Look here, my hearties! Do you realize it’s 5.35? 
We’ve got exactly ten minutes to clear up before 
Rachel arrives on the rampage.” 

“Gracious! Help me out of these duds! 
Rachel would never let me hear the end of it if she 
caught me as a May Queen. I know her sarcastic 
tongue,” squealed Peachy. “Thanks just fifty thou- 


Peachy’s Birthday ' 229 

sand times for my birthday party. It’s been abso¬ 
lutely prime, and I’ve never enjoyed anything as 
much for years. Sorry to send you others into the 
cold, cold world, but I’m afraid you’ll have to scoot 
and change.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


Concerning Juniors 

Though all the Camellia Buds had keenly enjoyed 
Peachy’s birthday festivities they were none of them 
satisfied to allow the mystery of the hiding of their 
cakes to remain unsolved. They questioned Elsie, 
who was often an envoy between themselves and the 
rest of the Transition, but Elsie professed utter ig¬ 
norance, and assured them that the particular girls 
whom they suspected had been playing tennis dur¬ 
ing the whole of their recreation, and could not pos¬ 
sibly have had time or opportunity to enter dormi¬ 
tory 13 unnoticed by some of their companions. 

“We’d have seen them,” declared Elsie. “Be¬ 
sides, they’d have boasted about it. Whoever’s the 
trick was, it wasn’t ours. If you want my opinion 
I should say ask some of those juniors. They’re 
absolute imps and ready for anything.” 

This was quite a new view of the case. The 
Camellia Buds had fixed the mischief so certainly on 
the rival sorority that they had never thought of 
the younger girls. Peachy, catching Olive, Doris, 
and Natalie, the trio whom she had named her 
“triplets,” taxed them solemnly with the crime. 
They burst out laughing. 

230 


Concerning Juniors 231 

“We ‘did’ you neatly!’’ 

“Were you all this time guessing it was us?” 

“I expect you had a hunt for those cakes!” 

Peachy focussed a stern eye upon their giggling 
faces, and hypnotized them into attention. 

“Now, what d’you mean by such impudence? 
How dare you go into our dormitory? Juniors 
aren’t to play tricks on their seniors! That was 
bumped into my head when I was a kid, and I’ll 
bump it jolly well into yours!” 

The trio pouted. 

“We thought you called yourself our Fairy God¬ 
mother,” said Olive sulkily. 

“Well! Soldo!” 

“Not much fairy about it, or godmother either. 
You do nothing for us now.” 

“You ungrateful little wretches! Haven’t we 
settled Bertha and Mabel for you? Don’t you get 
your biscuits all right at lunch now?” 

“Oh, yes. But-” 

“But what?” 

“You haven’t given us a candy party for ages,” 
broke out Natalie. “You keep all your cakes and 
fun to yourselves.” 

“You promised us all sorts of things. We don’t 
think Fairy Godmothers are any use,” snorted 
Olive. “Ta—ta! We’re off to a basket-ball.” 

“Some people make a mighty palaver over next to 
nothing,” sneered Doris, as the trio linked arms and 
tore away. 



232 The Jolliest School of All 

Peachy stood looking after them with wrinkled 
brows. She was a peppery little person, and her 
temper was up for the moment. All the same, 
Doris’s parting shot struck home. Unfortunately it 
was true. The Camellia Buds had proclaimed them¬ 
selves as “Fairy Godmothers, Limited,” had 
adopted juniors with much flourish of trumpets, had 
certainly fought a crusade and defended them 
against injustice and infringement of their rights, 
and then—and then—alack!—in the excitement of 
other matters had almost forgotten all about them. 

Peachy remembered clearly that for the first week 
of her championship she had made a point of speak¬ 
ing daily to Olive, Doris, and Natalie. Now, for 
a full fortnight she had scarcely nodded to them at 
the breakfast table. They had certainly had no op¬ 
portunity of pouring their childish woes into the sym¬ 
pathetic and motherly ear which she had quite in¬ 
tended should be always open to them. 

“I’ve a wretched memory,” she ruminated re¬ 
morsefully. “Poor kiddies. They’ve really got 
rather a grievance, though they needn’t have been so 
cheeky—the young imps! I guess I’d better call 
a meeting of the Camellia Buds and see what’s to 
be done. I don’t believe any of us have taken any 
notice of them just lately.” 

Nine would-have-been philanthropists, reminded 
of past schemes of benevolence, blushed uneasily, 
and tried to revive interest in their protegees. 

“They always seemed very busy with basket-ball 


Concerning Juniors 233 

and other things, and not exactly hankering after 
us,” urged Agnes in excuse. 

“They could have come to us if they’d wanted, of 
course,” added Mary. 

“That wasn’t entirely the pact,” said Peachy, 
driving in her tacks with firm hammer. “We of¬ 
fered to ‘mother’ them, and then forgot all about 
them. No wonder they think us frauds. What’s 
to be done about it?” 

“Get some more cakes somehow and ask them 
all to a party,” suggested Irene enthusiastically. 
“We have been pigs! I promised Desiree to paint 
something in her album, and the book’s been in my 
drawer for weeks, and I’ve never touched it.” 

“How are we going to get the cakes?” 

“Wheedle Antonio again, I suppose. We needn’t 
have any ourselves. If there are two slices apiece 
for the kids, it will do. We must keep some of 
our biscuits from lunch so that we can seem to be 
eating something ourselves. Peachy, you can coax 
him.” 

“You always leave it to me. Antonio isn’t so 
easy to manage. Sometimes he’s an absolute 
Pharisee, and won’t buy me so much as a single bit 
of candy. I’ll do what I can. Those poor kids 
shall have a treat if it costs me my last dollar. We 
owe them something decent.” 

Antonio, whose lapses from duty were only occa¬ 
sional, and who had been reprimanded lately by 
Miss Rodgers, who suspected his delinquencies, 


234 The Jolliest School of All 

proved deaf on this occasion to Peachy’s blandish¬ 
ments. He protested, with quite aggravating vir¬ 
tue, that it was as much as his place was worth to 
smuggle even a solitary cream-cake, and that for the 
future he must no more be the conveyor of contra¬ 
band sweet stuff. 

“Stumped in that quarter,” mourned Peachy. 
“But Pm not going to let this beat me. I’ve been 
cultivating a friendship with the cook! Don’t laugh ! 
I thought it might come in useful some day. I 
gave her my blue butterfly brooch (I had two of 
them!), and I took a snap-shot of her in her Sunday 
clothes, and she was immensely pleased and flat¬ 
tered. I haven’t developed it yet, by the by, but I 
will, and print her two copies and mount them. If 
that doesn’t melt her heart into sparing me a little 
butter and sugar it ought to. We can square it this 
way: none of us ten must eat any butter or sugar at 
breakfast or tea to-morrow, then we’ll have a real 
right to have it given us afterwards. Don’t pull 
faces! You can have marmalade or jam. What 
sybarites you are!” 

“Right-o,” agreed the Camellia Buds, sorrow¬ 
fully accepting the sacrifice. 

“But couldn’t the juniors contribute some butter, 
too?” added Sheila. 

“It might be noticed if too many went without. 
Besides, it’s the hostesses who ought to provide the 
party, not the guests.” 

Benedicta, the cook, was vulnerable, especially in 


Concerning Juniors 235 

view of the self-restraint exercised by the heroic 
ten. She made a hasty calculation of the amount 
of butter they would normally have consumed, added 
a package of sugar, and lent them a pan and a spoon. 
Peachy carried away these spoils chuckling, and hid 
them carefully behind the summer-house. Then she 
racked her brains and composed what she considered 
a suitable and telling invitation: 

“To all who’d love a Fairy Fete 
I beg you come, and don’t be late, 

We offer fun that will not wait. 

“The time is fixed for half-past four, 

You’ll have to squat upon the floor, 

We ask you all—but can’t do more. 

“Our summer-house is small but handy, 

Indeed we think the place most dandy, 

We’re going to try and make you candy. 

“So leave your game of basket-ball, 

And come and make a friendly call, 

You’ll find a welcome for you all. 

“From 

“Your Fairy Godmothers.” 

Peachy wrote her effusion upon a sheet torn from 
her best pad, folded it, sought out Olive and handed 
it to her, telling her to pass it round the form. 


236 The Jolliest School of All 

The juniors grinned at its contents. They had felt 
themselves neglected, but were quite ready to for¬ 
give past omissions on the strength of a present in¬ 
vitation. 

“Better late than never,” decreed Doris. “I sup¬ 
pose we’ll go?” 

“It sounds as if it might be rather nice,” agreed 
the others. 

So once more the Camellia Buds were placed in 
the position of hostesses. Owing to the difficulty of 
the catering they judged it best to make the candy 
before the very eyes of their guests, so that they 
might see for themselves how little there was of it 
and not grouse if the supply only ran to one bit 
apiece. 

“Otherwise they might think we’d had first go 
and only given them the leavings,” remarked Peachy, 
who was a born diplomat. 

They had counted on borrowing the spirit-lamp 
which the seniors used for brewing their after- 
dinner coffee, but at the last moment they found 
the bottle of methylated spirit was empty. 

“What a nuisance! There’s no time to send for 
more. Never mind! We won’t be ‘done.’ Let’s 
light a camp-fire and cook on that. We must man¬ 
age somehow.” 

“We certainly can’t disappoint them!” 

“Not after all this fuss.” 

The back of the summer-house, as being a par¬ 
ticularly retired and secluded spot, was chosen as 


Concerning Juniors 237 

the rendezvous, and when the nineteen juniors, in¬ 
terested and appreciative, came fluttering up the gar¬ 
den, they were met by scouts, conducted round, com¬ 
manded to squat in a circle on the ground, and re¬ 
quested to make less noise. 

“D’you want the whole of the school to butt in?” 
warned Jess. “Then keep quiet, can’t you? Much 
taffy you’ll get if Rachel catches us. Your only 
chance is to lie low, you little sillies.” 

“Rachel’s playing tennis!” giggled Evelyn 'Carr. 

“There are other prefects as well as Rachel. 
Pull yourselves together and don’t get so excited.” 

The juniors, who had been talking at the top 
of their voices, squealing, and otherwise raising the 
echoes, restrained their transports and contented 
themselves with whispers and giggles. The Camel¬ 
lia Buds were fetching fuel, which they had pur¬ 
loined from the gardener’s wood-shed. They com¬ 
menced to build a camp-fire. 

Before very long the flames were dancing up. 
Now, the hostesses in their enthusiasm to be hos¬ 
pitable had foolishly forgotten that it is one thing 
to stir a pan over a methylated spirit lamp, and 
quite another to hold it over a camp-fire. Peachy, 
Agnes, and Mary tried in turns and scorched their 
hands, egged on by the interested circle watching 
their performance. 

“Make a big bonfire, and let it die down, and 
put the pan in the hot ashes, just as we cook chest¬ 
nuts,” proposed Irene. 


238 The Jolliest School of All 

It was, at least, a feasible suggestion. Anything 
seemed better than open failure before those nine¬ 
teen pairs of expectant eyes. Volunteers went off 
for fresh supplies of wood, which was soon crack¬ 
ling merrily. But alas! the Camellia Buds, being 
rather overwrought and flustered with their experi¬ 
ments, did not calculate on the fact that the smoke 
of their bonfire would give away their secret. 
Rachel had handed her tennis racket to Phyllis, 
and was taking a turn among the orange trees to 
try to memorize her recitation for the elocution 
class. 

“ ‘All the world’s a stage 
And all the men and women merely players: 

They have their exits and their entrances; 

And one man in his time plays many parts/ ” 

she repeated; then, catching sight of the gray 
cloud rising from the back of the summer-house, 
“Hello! What’s Giovanni burning? He’ll set 
those orange trees on fire if he doesn’t mind.” 

Abandoning Shakespeare Rachel stalked away to 
investigate, and surprised the candy party by a sud¬ 
den appearance in their midst. 

“Good gracious, girls! Whatever are you doing 
here?” she demanded in idiomatic, if hardly strictly 
classical English. 

At the unwelcome sight of the head prefect the 
juniors one and all simply stampeded, and I regret 
to say that the more timid of the Camellia Buds 


Concerning Juniors 239 

followed their example. Peachy, Irene, Lorna, 
Delia, and Jess stood their ground, however. 

“We—we were only giving those kids a little 
fun,” answered Peachy. 

In dead silence Rachel reviewed the pan, its con¬ 
tents, and the blushing faces before her. Then she 
said: 

‘‘Rather dangerous fun. If that tree catches it 
will set the summer-house in a blaze next. You 
know your fire drill? Well, each fetch a bucket of 
water and put this out! Right turn! Quick 
march!” 

At the words of command the luckless five fled 
to the house and into the back hall where the fire 
buckets were kept. They returned with what speed 
they could, and thoroughly soused their bonfire. 
Rachel assured herself that it was safely out, then 
commenced further inquiries. 

“We didn’t mean any harm,” explained Peachy, 
much on the defensive. “We were only trying to 
amuse those juniors. They never have a chance to 
get hold of the tennis courts, and they’re tired of 
eternal basket-ball, and they’ve rather a thin time 
of it. We started taking them up because they were 
so bullied. Bertha and Mabel used to snatch their 
biscuits away from them at lunch.” 

Rachel’s face was a study. 

“Bertha and Mabel snatched their biscuits?” she 
repeated. 

“Yes; we stopped that though.” 


I 


240 The Jolliest School of All 

“I never saw it!” 

“They took jolly good care you shouldn’t.” 

“Why didn’t you come and tell me?” 

Peachy looked embarrassed. 

“Well, if you really want to know,” she blurted 
out, “you’re so aloof and superior nobody cares to 
come and tell you anything. We managed it by 
ourselves.” 

Rachel winced as if Peachy had struck her a blow. 

“Pm sorry if—if that’s how I seem to you,” she 
faltered. “I must have failed utterly as head girl 
if you can’t confide in me. The prefects want to be 
the friends of all the school.” 

Peachy shrugged her shoulders eloquently. 

“I don’t quite see where the friendship comes 
in,” she murmured. “You bag the best tennis courts 
and have the best dormitories, and give your own 
stunts there. You never ask any of us to them. 
Do you, now?” 

“No, Pm afraid we don’t,” admitted Rachel, still 
in the same constrained, almost bewildered, manner. 
“We really never thought of it.” 

The four Camellia Buds, listening to their 
friend’s outspoken comments, expected an explosion 
of wrath from the head prefect, but Rachel only 
told them to take the buckets back to the house. 

“And that too,” she added, pointing to the pan. 
Peachy stooped and picked it up, turned to go, then 
delivered herself of a last manifesto: 

“It’s our own butter and sugar that we saved 


Concerning Juniors 241 

from breakfast and tea, so please don’t blame any- 
body else.” 

“I blame myself most,” whispered Rachel, as she 
was left alone. 

The immediate result of the incident was a pre¬ 
fects’ meeting, at which the head girl, full of com¬ 
punction, stated the facts of the case to her fellow 
officers. 

“We thought we were doing our duty, but it 
isn’t enough just to act as police,” she urged. “Those 
girls in the Transition were on the right track in 
getting hold of the juniors, though perhaps they did 
it in the wrong way. This school isn’t really united. 
We’re all divided up into our own sororities, and 
we’re not doing enough for one another. We’ve 
got to alter it somehow or confess ourselves fail¬ 
ures. Do any of us seniors really know the little 
ones? I’m sure I don’t! Yet we ought to be elder 
sisters to them! That’s the real function of pre¬ 
fects—we’re not just assistant-mistresses to help to 
keep order. Don’t you agree?” 

Sybil, Erica, Phyllis, and Stella were conscien¬ 
tious girls, and when the matter was thus stated 
they saw it from Rachel’s new point of view. They 
were ready and willing to talk over plans. They de¬ 
cided, amongst other developments, that with Miss 
Morley’s permission, they would invite the juniors 
in relays to dormitory teas, in order to win their 
confidence and establish more friendly relations with 
them. The Transition were also to be cultivated, 


242 The Jolliest School of All 

and their opinion asked on the subject of term-end 
festivities and other school affairs about which the 
prefects had never before deigned to consult them. 
The altered attitude promised a far more healthy 
and satisfactory state, and Miss Morley, to whom 
Rachel hinted some of their reasons for offering hos¬ 
pitality, readily agreed, and allowed the juniors to 
be entertained with cakes and tea upon the veranda. 

“The seniors gave us a simply top-hole time,” 
confided Desiree to Irene afterwards. “We’d 
cream puffs and almond biscuits and preserved gin¬ 
ger, and we played games for prizes. But don’t 
think we liked it any better than your candy parties. 
The prefects are awfully kind to us now, but it was 
you who took us up first! We can’t forget that!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


The Anglo-Saxon League 

There was an old established custom at the Villa 
Camellia that on the evening of the last day of 
March (unless that date happened to fall on a Sun¬ 
day) the pupils were allowed special license after 
supper, and, regardless of ordinary rules, might dis¬ 
port themselves as they pleased until bedtime. 
Irene, who had not yet been present on one of these 
occasions, heard hints on all sides of coming fun, 
mingled with mystery. Peachy twice began to tell 
her something, but was stopped by Delia. Joan and 
Sheila seemed to be holding perpetual private com¬ 
mittee meetings; Elsie spent much time in Jess 
Cameron’s dormitory; and, wonder of wonders, 
Esther Cartmell was seen walking arm in arm with 
Mabel Hughes. Though Irene asked many ques¬ 
tions from various friends as to the nature of the 
evening’s amusement she could get no certain in¬ 
formation. They laughed, evaded direct answers, 
made allusions to things she did not understand, and 
whisked away like will-o’-the-wisps. Very much 
puzzled, and not altogether pleased, she sought her 
buddy. 

“They’ve all gone mad,” she assured Lorna. “I 

243 


244 The Jolliest School of All 

can’t get a word of sense out of Peachy; Esther was 
almost nasty, and Jess shut the door in my face. 
What’s the matter with them? Have I developed 
spots or a squint? Why have I suddenly become a 
leper?” 

Lorna, who was busy with French translation, 
shut her dictionary with a bang. 

“I’ve no patience with them,” she groused. “It’s 
because you’re English. I suppose we shall have 
to get up a stunt of our own, just out of retaliation, 
but I’m sick of the whole business.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why, it’s become a sort of custom to make this 
a nationality night. The American girls all band to¬ 
gether, and so do the South Africans and the Aus¬ 
tralians; and the Scotch girls are a tre?nendous 
clique of their own. They play jokes on every one 
else, and sometimes it almost gets to fighting.” 

“Between the sororities?” 

“Sororities are forgotten for the time being. 
Your dearest chum in the Camellia Buds will turn 
against you if it’s a question of Scotch or English, 
or American or British. I advise you to put away 
everything you value. The South Africans came 
into my cubicle last year and smeared my cold cream 
over my pillow. Of course your bed will be filled 
with brushes and boots, and any hard oddments 
they can find lying about. You won’t be able to 
find anything in the morning. The place is an ab¬ 
solute muddle.” 


The Anglo-Saxon League 245 

“How horrid!” 

“Yes, it is horrid. I can’t see the fun of it, my¬ 
self. Practical jokes can go too far, in my opinion, 
and some of those juniors get so rough they hurt 
each other. I’d keep out of it only it’s wise to stay 
and defend your own cubicle, or you’d find your 
blanket hidden and your soap gone.” 

“Do the seniors join in?” 

“No. They barricade themselves in their bed¬ 
rooms and have some private fun, but they leave us 
to do as we like. It’s the Transition and juniors 
who play the tricks. Of course, the seniors must 
know what’s going on, because they used to do the 
same themselves, but they just shut their eyes.” 

“Oh,” said Irene thoughtfully. “And because a 
thing has always been must it always be? Can’t 
it ever be altered? Are we bound to do nothing but 
play tricks on the last night of March?” 

“It ought to be altered. I’ve a jolly good mind 
to go to Rachel and tell her my views about it. 
She’s been much nicer lately than she used to be. 
Perhaps she’d listen. If she doesn’t there’d be no 
harm done, at any rate. Will you come with me? 
I don’t like going by my little lonesome.” 

The two girls tapped at the door of dormitory 9, 
and fortunately found the head prefect within and 
alone. She received them quite graciously and lis¬ 
tened with interest to what Lorna had to say. 

“I’m so thankful you’ve told me,” she said in 
reply. “I agree with you absolutely. It’s time this 


246 The Jolliest School of All 

silly business was put a stop to. We prefects have 
held back because we didn’t want to be spoil-sports, 
but I believe you really voice the opinion of a good 
many girls. I used to get very tired of it when I 
was in the Transition myself. If Miss Rodgers 
found out some of the tricks that are played she’d 
never let us have the holiday again.” 

“Can’t we persuade them to do something else 
instead—something really jolly?” 

“We must. I’ll think about it. Leave it to me. 
I’ve been turning it over in my mind for some time, 
though my ideas never crystallized. I’ll have some 
scheme ready. I can depend on you two to support 
me in the Transition?” 

“Rather!” 

Rachel, reporting the interview to her fellow 
prefects, found them entirely in agreement. They 
were dissatisfied with many things in the Transition 
and junior forms, and this Nationality evening was 
considered the limit. Something seemed to be 
needed at the present crisis to weld together the 
various factions of the Villa Camellia, and turn 
them into one harmonious whole. The prefects 
were aware that the various sororities were really 
rival societies, and that, though they might give 
great fun and enjoyment to their respective mem¬ 
bers, they were productive of jealousy rather than 
union. 

“We want a common motive,” said Rachel. 
“An inspiration, if possible. I believe some sort of 


The Anglo-Saxon League 247 

a league would do it. Something outside ourselves, 
and bigger than just the little world of school. 
Something that even the smallest juniors could join, 
and in which girls who have left could still take an 
interest. It’s dawning on me! I believe I’ve got it! 
I’m going to call it ‘The Anglo-Saxon League.’ 
We’ll get everybody to join, and fix its first festival 
for the 31st of March. It should just take the 
wind out of those silly nationality tricks. I’ll speak 
to Miss Rodgers and ask her to let us have a parade 
and dance, with prizes for the best costumes. 
They’d love that, anyhow. I’ll call a meeting in 
the gym and put it to them. I believe it will catch 
on. 

The pupils at the Villa Camellia were not over¬ 
done with public meetings. They responded there¬ 
fore with alacrity to the notice which Rachel, after 
obtaining the necessary permission from the authori¬ 
ties, pinned upon the board in the hall. They were 
all a little curious to know what she wanted to talk 
to them about. A few anticipated a scolding, but 
the majority expected some more pleasant announce¬ 
ment. 

“Rachel’s wrought up, but she doesn’t look like 
jawing us,” was the verdict of Peachy, who had 
passed the head prefect in the corridor. Some of 
the seniors constituted themselves stewards and ar¬ 
ranged the audience to their satisfaction, with 
juniors on the front benches and the Transition be¬ 
hind. When everybody was seated, Rachel stepped 


248 The Jolliest School of All 

on to the platform and rang the bell for silence. 
Her cheeks were pink with excitement and there 
was a little thrill of nervousness in her voice, as if 
she were forcing herself to a supreme effort, but 
this passed as she warmed to her subject. 

“Girls,” she began, “I asked you to come here 
because I want to have a talk with you about our 
school life. You’ll all agree with me that we love 
the Villa Camellia. It’s a unique school. I don’t 
suppose there’s another exactly like it in the whole 
world. Why it’s so peculiar is that we’re a set of 
Anglo-Saxon girls in the midst of a foreign-speak¬ 
ing country. We ourselves are collected from dif¬ 
ferent continents—some are Americans, some Eng¬ 
lish, some from Australia, or New Zealand, or 
South Africa—but we all talk the same Anglo- 
Saxon tongue, and we’re bound together by the same 
race traditions. Large schools in England or Amer¬ 
ica take a great pride in their foundation, and they 
play other schools at games and record their vic¬ 
tories. We can’t do that here, because there are no 
foreign teams worth challenging, so we’ve always 
had to be our own rivals and have form matches. 
In a way, it hasn’t been altogether good for us. 
We’ve got into the bad habit of thinking of the 
school in sections, instead of as one united whole. 
I’ve even heard squabbles among you as to whether 
California or Cape Colony or New South Wales are 
the most go-ahead places to live in. Now, instead of 
scrapping, we ought to be glad to join hands. If 


The Anglo-Saxon League 249 

you think of it, it’s a tremendous advantage to grow 
up among Anglo-Saxon girls from other countries 
and hear their views about things. It ought to keep 
you from being narrow, at any rate. You get fresh 
ideas and rub your corners off. What I want you 
particularly to think about, is this: it’s the duty of 
all English-speaking people to cling together. If 
they’ve ever had any differences it’s time they forgot 
them. The world seems to be in the melting-pot at 
present, and there are many strange prophecies about 
the future. Black and yellow races are increasing 
and growing so rapidly that they may be ready to 
brim over their boundaries some day and swamp the 
white civilizations. Anglo-Saxons ought to be pre¬ 
pared, and to stand hand in hand to help one an¬ 
other. I’ve been reading some queer things lately. 
One is that a new continent is slowly rising out 
of the Pacific Ocean—Lemuria they call it—and 
some day, hundreds of years hence, there may be 
land there instead of water, and people living on it. 
They say too that the center of gravity of both the 
British Empire and the United States is moving 
towards the Pacific. Sydney may grow more im¬ 
portant than London, and San Francisco than New 
York when the trade routes make them fresh pivots 
of energy. Another funny thing I read is that as 
the world is changing a new race seems to be emerg¬ 
ing. Travelers say that the modern children in Aus¬ 
tralia don’t look in the least like English children or 
French children, or any European nation—they are 


250 The Jolliest School of All 

a fresh type. America has been populated by people 
from practically all the older countries, but I read 
that children who are being born there now differ in 
their head measurements from babies of the older 
races. Perhaps some of you may be interested in 
this and some of you may only be bored, but what I 
want to rub in is that if a new, and perhaps superior, 
race is evolving it’s surely part of our work to help it 
on. Here we all are, girls from England, America, 
and the British Colonies, of the same race and speak¬ 
ing the same language. Let us make an Anglo- 
Saxon League, and pledge ourselves that wherever 
we go over the face of the world we will carry with 
us the best traditions. We’re out for Peace, not 
War, and Peace comes through sympathy. The 
women of those great eastern nations, the Chinese, 
the Japanese, and the Hindoos, who are only just 
awakening to a sense of freedom, will look to us 
Westerners for their example. Can’t we hold out 
the hand of sisterhood to them, and teach them our 
highest ideals, so that in the centuries to come they 
may be our friends instead of our enemies? It’s a 
case of ‘Take up the White Man’s burden.’ We 
stand together, not as Scotch, or Canadians, or New 
Zealanders or Americans, but as good Anglo-Saxons, 
the apostles of peace, not ‘frightfulness.’ 

“I’m going to ask every girl in this room to join 
the League. There’ll be various activities in connec¬ 
tion with it. We haven’t decided all yet, but we 
hope one of them will be to establish a correspon- 


The Anglo-Saxon League 251 

dence between this school and other schools in Eng¬ 
land and the Colonies and in America. We’d like 
to write letters to their prefects and hear what they 
are doing, and have copies of their school maga¬ 
zines. It would be like shaking hands over the 
ocean. Then why shouldn’t we correspond with 
girls in missionary schools in India or China or 
Japan? Think how exciting to have letters from 
them and read them aloud. We should hear all 
about their eastern lives, and all kinds of interesting 
things. 

“Well, these are far-away schemes yet that need a 
little time to establish. I’ve something much nearer 
to put before you. Miss Rodgers has, given us 
seniors leave to hold a fancy-dress dance on the 31st 
of March, from 7.30 to 9.30, here in the gym. We 
invite every girl who joins the League to come. 
Nationality costumes will be welcomed. There will 
be first, second, and third prizes for the best dresses. 
The judges will take into consideration the scanti¬ 
ness of the materials available, but they wish to 
announce that any girl found guilty of borrowing 
articles for her costume without the leave of their 
owners will be disqualified, and further, that any 
member of the League convicted of playing practi¬ 
cal jokes will be expelled from the dance. The pre¬ 
fects think it wise and necessary to mention that, 
though the evening of March 31st has been set aside 
as a holiday and certain rules have been relaxed, 
the school is nevertheless bound to preserve its usual 


252 The Jolliest School of All 

code of good manners, and every girl is put on her 
honor to behave herself. I’m sure I need not say 
more, for you surely understand me, and agree that 
when Miss Rodgers has allowed us to have this fun 
we ought not to abuse her kindness. Will every one 
who’s ready to join the League and wants to come 
to the dance hold up her hand.” 

Almost every girl in the room responded to 
Rachel’s invitation. Some—the higher-thinking ones 
—were attracted by the ideals of the League itself; 
others were merely anxious not to be left out of the 
festivities. It was a long time since the school had 
had a fancy ball. There had been private carnivals 
in the dormitories, but not a public official affair at 
which everybody could compete in the way of dresses. 
Rumor spread like wild-fire round the room. It was 
whispered that Miss Morley herself meant to come, 
disguised as Hiawatha, that Miss Rodgers had of¬ 
fered a gold wrist-watch as first prize, and that there 
were yards of gorgeous materials in the storeroom 
to be had for the asking. The thrill of these mani¬ 
fold possibilities was sufficient to eclipse the attrac¬ 
tions of their former intentions for the evening’s 
amusement. It was really more interesting to evolve 
costumes than plan tricks. Every true daughter of 
Eve loves to look her best, and womanhood, even in 
the bud, cannot withstand the supreme magnet of 
clothes. Little Doris Parker, South African hoyden 
as she was, voiced the general feeling when she con¬ 
fessed: 


The Anglo-Saxon League 253 

‘Td meant to give those Australians a hot time 
of it. They may thank their stars for the League. 
Though I’m rather glad I shan’t have to tease 
Natalie, because she’s my chum. We’re both going 
together as southern hemispheres. It’ll be ripping 
fun.” 

The Camellia Buds, who had been temporarily 
estranged by the impending national divisions, re¬ 
turned to the friendly atmosphere of their sorority, 
and lent one another garments for the fete. 

“It’s a good thing Rachel put a stopper on com¬ 
mandeering,” commented Delia. “Mabel was sim¬ 
ply shameless at the Carnival. Had anybody told?” 

“Sybil and Erica knew; and Rachel isn’t really as 
blind as we thought. At any rate, she’s awake now, 
and a far nicer prefect than she used to be. By the 
by, we’re to draw lots as to who may borrow out 
of the theatrical property box.” 

“Oh, goody. I hope I’ll win. There’s a little 
gray dress there I’ve set my heart on. I’ll cry oceans 
if I don’t get it,” declared Peachy. 

“Cheer up, poor old sport! If the luck comes my 
way I’ll try and grab it for you. I don’t need any¬ 
thing for myself, thank goodness.” 

“You wdiite angel! That’s what I call being a 
real mascot. I’ll share my last dollar with you some 
day—honest Injun!” 

The contents of Miss Morley’s theatrical property 
box, apportioned strictly by lot, did not go far 
among fifty-six girls. Miss Rodgers allowed two of 


254 The Jolliest School of All 

the prefects, with a teacher, to make an expedition 
into Fossato and rummage the shops for some yards 
of cheap, gay materials, imitation lace, and bright 
ribbons, which they were commissioned to buy on 
behalf of certain of their schoolfellows, but most 
of the dancers had to contrive their costumes out of 
just anything that came to hand, often exercising 
an ingenuity that was little short of marvelous. 
Acting upon Rachel’s suggestion many of them per¬ 
sonified various continents or countries. The Stars 
and Stripes of the American flag were conspicuous, 
and there were several Red Indians, with painted 
faces and feathers in their hair. 

Sheila, Mary, Esther, and Lorna repeated the cos¬ 
tumes they had worn at the tableau, and went as 
representatives of Canada, South Africa, India, and 
New Zealand, but Peachy lent her cowboy costume 
to Rosamonde, and turned up as Longfellow’s 
“Evangeline,” in gray Puritan robe and neat white 
cap, a part which, though very becoming, did not 
accord with her mischievous, twinkling eyes. 

“Not much ‘Mayflower Maiden’ about you!” gig¬ 
gled Delia. 

“Why not?” asked Peachy calmly. “I guess poor 
Evangeline wasn’t always on the weep! No doubt 
she had her lively moments sometimes. I’m show¬ 
ing her at her brightest and best. You ought to give 
thanks for a new interpretation of her!” 

Winnie Duke scored tremendously by robing in 
skin rugs as a Canadian bear, while Joan was able to 


The Anglo-Saxon League 255 

carry out a long-wished-for project and turn herself 
into a very good imitation of a kangaroo. 

Fifty-six girls, arrayed fantastically in all the 
colors of the rainbow, made a delectable sight as 
they paraded round the gymnasium. The prefects 
had shirked the difficult and delicate task of judging, 
and had called in Miss Rodgers and Miss Morley 
to decree who were to receive the prizes. Perhaps 
they also found the decision too hard, for they chose 
a dozen of the best, put them to the public vote and 
counted the shows of hands. Gwen Hesketh, a 
member of the Sixth, in a marvelously contrived 
Chinese costume, was first favorite; little Cyntha 
West, as a delightful goblin, secured second prize, 
while the kangaroo, to the satisfaction of the Transi¬ 
tion, was awarded the third. The gold wristlet 
watch was of course a myth, and the rewards were 
mere trifles, but the principals had risen to the occa* 
sion sufficiently to contribute to the entertainment 
by providing lemonade between the dances, which 
in the opinion of the girls was a great addition 
to the festivities, and made the event seem more like 
“a real party.” 

Before they separated, the League formed an 
enormous circle round the room and each clasping 
her neighbor’s hand, all joined in the singing of 
“Auld Lang Syne”: cowboy and Indian princess, 
Redskin and Scotch lassie, Canadian and Jap roared 
the familiar chorus, and having thus worked off 
steam retired to their dormitories and went to bed 


256 The Jolliest School of All 

without breaking their pledge of good behavior. 
Rachel, returning from her round of supervision, 
heaved a sigh of immense relief. 

“I was dreading this evening,” she confided to 
Sybil. “I was so afraid they’d forget their promises 
and begin that rowdy teasing. I believe we’ve 
broken the tradition of that, thank goodness. I 
hope it may never be revived again.” 

“Thanks to the Anglo-Saxon League!” 

“And may that go on and flourish long after we 
have left the Villa Camellia,” added Rachel. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Greek Temples 

The opening of the post-bag at the Villa Camel¬ 
lia, bearing as it did missives from most quarters of 
the globe, was naturally a great daily event. Some 
of the girls were lucky in the matter of correspon¬ 
dence—Peachy received numerous letters—and 
others were not so highly favored. Poor Lorna 
was generally left out altogether. Her father wrote 
to her occasionally, but she had no other friend or 
relation to send her even a post-card. She accepted 
the omission with the sad patience which was her 
marked characteristic. Her affection for Irene had 
been an immense factor in her school life this term, 
but she was still very different from other girls, and 
kept her old barrier of shy reserve. Irene, noticing 
Lorna’s wistful look towards the post-bag, often 
tried to share her correspondence with her buddy; 
she would show her all her picture post-cards, briefly 
explaining who the writers were and to what their 
allusions referred. At first Lorna had only been 
languidly polite over them, but later she grew in¬ 
terested. Second-hand articles may not be as good 
as your own, but they are better than nothing at all, 

2 57 


258 The Jolliest School of All 

and the various items of news made topics for con¬ 
versations and gave her a glimpse of other people’s 
homes. 

Irene, finishing her budget one morning, sorted 
out any which she might hand on to her chum. 

“Not home letters—yours are sacred, Mummie 
darling!—and she wouldn’t care to hear about Aunt 
Doreen’s attack of rheumatism. There are two post¬ 
cards she may like, and this lovely long stave from. 
Dona. Lorna, dear! I’ve told you about my cousin 
Dona Anderson? She’s at Brackenfield College. 
She’s older than I am, but somehow we’ve always 
been such friends. I like her far and away the best 
out of that family. She doesn’t find time to write 
very often, because she’s in the Sixth and a prefect, 
and it keeps her busy, and besides she never has been 
much of a scribbler. I haven’t heard from her for 
months. This is ever such a jolly letter, though, if 
you care to look at it.” 

“Thanks,” said Lorna, accepting the offer. “Yes, 
I remember you told me about her. She must be 
rather a sport. I wish she were at the Villa Camel¬ 
lia instead of in England.” 

“And Dona thinks there isn't any other school in 
the world except hers.” 

But Lorna had opened the closely-written sheets 
and was already reading as follows: 


Greek Temples 


259 


St. Githa’s, 
Brackenfield College, 
March 30th. 

Renie dear! 

I’ve been meaning to write to you for ages! Mother told 
me the news of how you all packed off to Naples, and she 
sent me the address of your school. I do hope you like it 
and have settled down. I always wanted you to come to 
Brackenfield! You know Joan is here now? It’s her first 
term and she’s radiantly happy. She’s a clever little person 
at her work, and we think she’s going to be great at games. 
Of course she’s only in New Girls’ Junior Team, but she’s 
done splendidly already. Ailsa was looking on yesterday 
and complimented her afterwards. 

We’ve had quite a good hockey season. The Coll, played 
“Hawthornden” last week, and when the whistle went for 
“time” the score was 4-2 in our favor! An immense triumph 
for us, because we’ve never had the luck to beat them before, 
and we were feeling desperate about it. They were so cock¬ 
sure of winning too! Do you get any hockey at Fossato? 
Or is it all tennis? 

We’d a rather decent gymnastic display a while ago. 
Mona and Beatrice are very keen on gym practice and they 
did some really neat balance-walking on the bars, also side 
vaulting. The juniors gave country dances in costume, and 
of course that sort of thing is always clapped by parents. 
We’re working hard now for the concert. Ailsa and I have 
to sing a duet and we’re both terrified. Hope we shan’t 
break down and spoil the show! 

I’m enjoying this year at Brackenfield most immensely. 
It’s lovely being a prefect. I was fearfully scared when 
first the Empress sent for me and told me I was to be a 


260 The Jolliest School of All 

school officer, but I’ve got on swimmingly, thanks largely to 
Ailsa, I think. Of course we’re still inseparable. We al¬ 
ways have been since our first term at St. Ethelberta’s, when 
I smuggled the mice into No. 5 to scare Mona out of the 
dormitory and leave room for Ailsa. 

I go nearly every week to The Tamarisks. It cheers 
Auntie up to see me. She’s rather lonely since Elaine was 
married. By the by you asked me what had become of Miss 
Norton’s little nephew Eric. You admired his photograph 
so much, with those lovely golden curls. Of course they’re 
cut off now. He’s ever so much stronger and has gone to a 
preparatory school. I still send him books and things and 
he writes me sweet letters. I’m planning to coax Mother 
to let me invite Nortie to bring him to us for part of the 
summer holidays. I don’t want to loose sight of the dear 
little chap. 

Now for home news. Leonard is in India, and likes the 
life there, and Larry is at Cambridge. Peter and Cyril are 
still at St. Bede’s, and getting on well. Their letters are 
full of nothing but football though. Nora’s baby girl is a 
darling, and Michael is still very sweet though he’s growing 
rather an imp. You know we always describe ourselves as an 
old-fashioned rambling family. Well, one of us is rambling 
in your direction! Marjorie is making a tour in Italy with 
some friends of hers—the Prestons. Isn’t she lucky? The 
last post-card she sent me was from Rome, and she said they 
were going on to Naples, so it’s just within the bounds of 
possibility that you may see her. I wish I could have come 
out for Easter and had a peep at you. I’d like to see oranges 
really growing on orange trees! Perhaps Ailsa’s going to ask 
me for the holidays though. They have a country cottage in 
Cornwall and it would be top-hole there. 


261 


Greek Temples 

Write and tell me about your southern school when you 
have time. I’d love to hear. Do you have to speak Italian 
there ? 

Well, I must stop now and do my prep. There’s a 
junior tapping at the door too and wanting to see me. Pre¬ 
fects don’t get much time to themselves! 

With best love, 

Your affectionate coz, 

Dona Anderson. 

“What a jolly letter,” commented Lorna, as she 
handed it back. 

“Yes, Dona is a dear. I used to want to go to 
Brackenfield, but I wasn’t well last year, and Mother 
said it was too strenuous a school for me. Isn’t it 
a joke that Marjorie is in Italy? What fun if she 
were to turn up some day. I have a kind of feeling 
that I’m going to see her. I’m getting quite ex¬ 
cited.” 

Lorna did not reply. Irene’s correspondence was 
after all only a matter of half importance to her. 
Indeed the thought of that lively family of cousins 
brought out so sharply the contrast of her own loneli¬ 
ness that she almost wished she had never heard 
of them. Why did other people get all the luck in 
life? 

“What’s the matter? You’re very glum,” said 
Irene. 

“Nothing! I can’t always be sparkling, can I?” 

“I suppose not. But I thought you’d be interested 
in Marjorie coming.” 


262 The Jolliest School of All 

“How can I be interested in some one I’ve never 
seen?” snapped Lorna, walking abruptly away. 

Irene looked after her and shook her head. 

“I’ve put my foot in it somehow,” she ruminated. 
“You never know how to take Lorna. A thing that 
pleases her one day annoys her the next. She’s 
certainly what you’d call ‘katawampus’ this morn¬ 
ing.” 

It was getting very near the end of the term now, 
and all the girls were talking eagerly about going 
home. Before they separated for their vacation, 
however, there was to be one more of Miss Morley’s 
delightful excursions. Next term would be too hot 
to do much sightseeing, so those of the pupils who 
had not yet been shown the wonders of the neigh¬ 
borhood were to have the chance of a visit to the 
Greek temples at Paestum. It would be a longer ex¬ 
pedition even than to Vesuvius, and as many were 
anxious to take part it was arranged to hire a motor 
char-a-banc to accommodate about twenty-four girls 
and several teachers. The lucky ones were of course 
well drilled beforehand in the history and architec¬ 
ture of the place, and knew how a Greek colony had 
settled there about the year 600 B.c. and had built 
the magnificent Doric temples, which, with the sole 
exception of those at Athens, are the finest existing 
ruins of the kind. 

Miss Rodgers had limited the excursion to seniors 
and Transition, thinking it too long and fatiguing a 
day for the juniors. All the prefects were going, 


263 


Greek Temples 

while the Camellia Buds, with the exception of 
Esther and Mary, who had been before, were also 
included in the party. 

“This is one thing you wouldn’t get at any rate in 
an ordinary English school,” said Lorna. “I don’t 
suppose the Brackenfield girls are taking excursions 
to Greek temples.” 

“There aren’t any Greek temples in England for 
them to go and see, silly,” laughed Irene. 

“Well, Abbeys or Castles or anything ancient.” 

“From Dona’s accounts that sort of thing is not in 
their line. They concentrate on games.” 

“Hockey is all very well, but give me our orange 
groves and the blue sea.” 

“Ye-es; but I sometimes hanker for a really Ai 
hockey match!” 

“Don’t you like the Villa Camellia?” 

“Of course I do. What’s the matter, Lorna? I 
believe you’re jealous of Brackenfield!” 

“No, I’m not, though I’m sure I’m right in fancy¬ 
ing you’d rather be there than here.” 

“How absurd you are!” 

“Am I? All right! Call it absurd if you want. 
Are you going to sit next to me in the char-a-banc?” 

Irene looked conscious. 

“I promised Peachy! But you can sit the other 
side, you know.” 

“Oh, no, thanks! If you’ve made arrangements 
already I’m sure I don’t want to interfere with them. 
I wouldn’t spoil sport for worlds.” 


264 The Jolliest School of All 

“You are the limit !” 

“Am I ? Indeed! Perhaps you’d rather not have 
me for a buddy any more?” 

“For gracious’ sake stop talking nonsense! 
You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met,” snapped 
Irene. Then to avoid an open quarrel she walked 
away, leaving her chum in the depths of misery. 

Lorna knew her own temper was at fault, but 
she was in a touchy mood and laid the blame on 
fate. 

“If I had a nice home like other girls, and had 
been going there for ripping holidays, and had 
brothers and cousins to write to me I’d be different,” 
she excused herself, quite forgetting that, however 
much we may be handicapped, the molding of our 
character is after all in our own hands. 

As it was she sulked, and when the char-a-banc 
arrived, although Irene beckoned her to a place be¬ 
side herself and Peachy, she took no notice and 
waited till everybody else had scrambled in. The 
result of this was that she finally found herself 
seated away from all her own friends and next to 
Mrs. Clark, the wife of the British chaplain, who 
by Miss Morley’s invitation had joined the excur¬ 
sion. Perhaps on the whole it was just as well. 
Mrs. Clark was what the girls called “a perfect 
dear,” and a few hours in her company was a restful 
mind tonic. She had a cheery manner and chatted 
upon all sorts of pleasant subjects, so that after a 
time Lorna began to forget her “jim-jams” and even 


265 


Greek Temples 

to volunteer a remark or two, instead of confining 
her conversation to monosyllables. 

Certainly any girl must have been hard to please 
who did not enjoy herself. The motor drive was 
one of the loveliest in Italy. They passed through 
glorious scenery, all the more beautiful as it was the 
blossoming time of the year and flowers were every¬ 
where. On a marshy plain, as they reached Paestum, 
the fields were spangled with the little white wild 
narcissus, growing in such tempting quantities that 
Miss Morley asked the driver to stop the char-a- 
banc, and allowed all to dismount and pick to their 
hearts’ content. 

“Isn’t the scent of them heavenly!” said Lorna, 
burying her nose in a bunch of sweetness. 

“Luscious!” agreed Mrs. Clark. “I think the old 
Greeks must have gathered these to weave garlands 
for their heads when they went to their festivals. 
I’m glad tourists are safe here now'. This marsh, 
just where we’re standing, used to be a tremendous 
haunt of brigands, and any travelers coming to see 
the ruins ran the chance of being robbed. My father 
had his purse taken years ago. Don’t look fright¬ 
ened. The government have put all that down at * 
last. The neighborhood of Naples has improved 
very much since I was a girl. I remember pick¬ 
pockets used to be quite common on the quay at 
Santa Lucia, and nobody troubled to interfere. You 
can walk to the boat nowadays and carry a hand-bag 
without fearing every moment it will be snatched.” 


266 The Jolliest School of All 

But the driver was urging the necessity of pushing 
on, so all took their seats again, and in due course 
reached Paestum. The girls had, of course, seen 
photographs of the place beforehand, yet even these 
had hardly prepared them for the stately magnifi¬ 
cence of the three great temples that suddenly broke 
upon their vision. Their immense size, their loneli¬ 
ness, far from town or city, and their glorious situa¬ 
tion betwixt hill and blue sea, almost took the breath 
away, and filled the mind with glowing admiration 
for the genius of Greek architecture. The rows of 
fluted Doric columns, tapering symmetrically to¬ 
wards the roof, were like beautiful lily stems sup¬ 
porting flowers, the mellow yellow tone of the stone 
was varied by the ferns and acanthus which grew 
everywhere around, and the sunshine, falling on the 
rows of delicate shafts, seemed to linger lovingly, 
and invest them with a halo of golden light. 

“What must these temples have been when the 
world was young!” said Miss Morley. “If we could 
only get a glimpse of them as they were more than 
two thousand years ago. Think what processions 
must have paced down those glorious aisles. Priests 
and singers and worshipers all crowned with 
flowers. The rose gardens of Paestum used to be 
famous among the Roman poets. The marvel is that 
the stones have stood all these centuries of time. It 
seems as if Art and Beauty have triumphed over de¬ 
cay.” 

The party had brought lunch baskets, and they 


267 


Greek Temples 

now sat down on the steps of the Temple of Nep¬ 
tune to enjoy their picnic. Fortunately the grounds 
of the ruins were enclosed by railings, so they were 
preserved from the attentions of a group of beggar 
children, who had greeted the arrival of the char-a- 
banc with outstretched palms and torrents of en¬ 
treaties for “soldi,” and who were hanging about the 
gate evidently waiting for any fresh opportunity 
that might occur of asking alms. Four lean and 
hungry dogs, however, had managed to slip into the 
enclosure, and made themselves a nuisance by sitting 
in front of the picnickers and keeping up an incessant 
chorus of loud barking. The girls tried to stop 
the noise by throwing them fragments of sandwiches, 
but their appetites were so insatiable that they would 
have consumed the whole luncheon and have barked 
for more, so Miss Morley, tired of the noise, finally 
chased them off the premises with her umbrella. 

“They’re as bad as wolves. And as for the 
children they’re shameless. They’ve been taught to 
look upon tourists as their prey. If you go near the 
gate dozens of little hands are poked through the 
railings and an absolute shriek of ‘soldi’ arises. It 
spoils people’s enjoyment to be so terribly pestered 
by beggars. And the more you give them the more 
they ask.” 

“They’re having a try at somebody else now,” re¬ 
marked Rachel, watching the crowd of small heads 
leave their vantage ground of the railings and surge 
round a carriage which drove up. “Some other 


268 The Jolliest School of All 

tourists are coming to see the sights—two gentle¬ 
men and three ladies, very glad I expect to show 
their tickets and get through the gate out of the 
reach of that rabble. They’re walking this way. 
They must be rather annoyed to find a school in pos¬ 
session of the place.” 

The strangers also carried luncheon baskets, and 
seemed seeking a spot for a picnic. They were 
filing past the group on the steps when Irene sud¬ 
denly sprang up. 

“Why, Marjorie! Marjorie!” she exclaimed joy¬ 
fully. “Don’t you know me?” 

The handsome, gray-eyed girl thus addressed 
looked puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared 
with recognition. 

“Renie! You’ve grown out of all remembrance! 
To think of meeting you here of all places. I’m with 
some friends—the Prestons. We’re on a six weeks’ 
tour in Italy. I went to see your mother in Naples 
yesterday. What a jolly flat you have there! Isn’t 
this absolutely glorious? I’m having the time of 
my life.” 

“I should think you are by the look of you,” 
laughed Irene. “Dona wrote and told me you were 
coming to Italy, but I never expected to find you 
here to-day. If Miss Morley will let me, may I 
bring my lunch along and join your party for a little 
while? There are ten dozen things I want to ask 
you.” 


Greek Temples 269 

“Of course. Come and share our sandwiches. 
We’ve plenty to spare.” 

Having received the required permission, Irene 
went away to talk to her cousin, considerably to the 
admiration of most of her chums, and decidedly to 
the envy of one. Lorna, who had settled herself by 
her side on the steps, was not pleased to be deserted. 
She could never quite forgive Irene for having so 
many friends. The brooding cloud that had tem¬ 
porarily dispersed settled down again. When the 
girls got up to explore the temple she marched glumly 
away by herself. All the beauty and wonder and 
loveliness of the scene was lost upon her; for the 
sake of a foolish fit of jealousy she was spoiling her 
own afternoon. 

She was sitting upon a fallen piece of masonry, 
very wretched, and indulging in a private little weep, 
when a footstep sounded on the stone pavement, 
and somebody came and sat down quietly beside her. 
It was Mrs. Clark, and she had the tact to take no 
notice as Lorna surreptitiously rubbed her eyes. 
She knew far more about the girls at the Villa Camel¬ 
lia than any of them suspected, and she had a very 
shrewd suspicion what lay at the bottom of Lorna’s 
mind. A skillful remark or two turned the conver¬ 
sation on to the topic of the holidays. 

‘‘It s nice to go home, isn’t it?” 

Lorna gave a non-committal grunt. 

“Even if you miss your friends!” 


270 The Jolliest School of All 

“I suppose so.” 

“And it’s pleasant to think they may miss you?” 

“I don’t flatter myself they’ll do that,” burst out 
Lorna. “They’re so happy they never think about 
me. Mrs. Clark, you don’t know my home. I’ve 
nobody—nobody except my father. The others have 
brothers and sisters and friends, and all they want 
—and I have nothing.” 

“Except your father,” added Mrs. Clark. “How 
about him? Sometimes when two people are left 
lonely they can make the world blossom again for 
one another. Isn’t it time you began to take your 
mother’s place? Can’t you set yourself these holi¬ 
days to give him such a bright, cheerful daughter 
that he’ll hardly want to part with you when you go 
back to school? Wouldn’t you rather he missed you 
than your chums? He’s closer to you than they are. 
Ask yourself if you were to lose him is there one of 
your friends who could mean as much to you? I 
sometimes think that girls who are brought up at 
boarding-school are apt to lose the right sense of 
value of their own relations. Their companions 
and the games fill their lives, and they go back for 
the holidays almost like visitors in their own homes. 
When they leave school they’re dissatisfied and rest¬ 
less, because they’ve never been accustomed to suit 
themselves to the ways of the household, and have 
no niche into which they can fit. The old round of 
“camaraderie” is over, and they have been trained 
for nothing but community life. Take my advice 


271 


Greek Temples 

and make your niche now while you have the op¬ 
portunity. Show your father you want him, and 
that he’s your best friend, and he’ll begin to realize 
that he wants you. How old are you? Nearly six¬ 
teen ! In another year or so you should be able to 
live with him altogether and be the companion to 
him that he needs. You say you envy girls with 
many brothers and sisters, but there’s another side 
to that—if you’re the only child you get the whole 
of the love. Remember you’re all your father has, 
and let him see that you care. It’s a greater thing 
to be a good daughter than to be the favorite of 
the school. If you keep that object in view you 
ought to have many years of happiness before you.” 

“I know. I was forgetting that side of it,” said 
Lorna slowly. 

“Think it over then, for its worth considering. A 
woman may have many brothers and sisters, she can 
have another husband or another child, but it’s only 
one father or mother she’ll get, and the bond is a 
close one. Is that Irene waving to us ? What is she 
calling? We’re to come on with the party! Yes in¬ 
deed, we ought to be moving along. We shall only 
just have time to explore the other temples before 
we must start back in the char-a-banc.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


In Capri 

April, the beautiful April of Southern Italy, was 
half-way spent before the Villa Camellia broke up 
for the holidays. There were the usual term-end 
examinations, at which distressed damsels, with agi¬ 
tated minds and ink-stained fingers, sat at desks 
furnished with piles of foolscap, and cudgeled their 
brains to supply facts to fill the sheets of blank 
paper; there was the reading out of results, with 
congratulations to those who had succeeded, and 
glum looks from Miss Rodgers to those who had 
failed; then followed the bringing down of boxes, 
the joyful flutter of packing, the last breakfast, and 
the final universal exodus. 

“Good-by, dear old thing!” 

“Do miss me a little!” 

“Hope you’ll have a ripping time!” 

“Be a sport and write to me, won’t you?” 

“Hold me down, somebody, I’m ready to fizz 
over!” 

“You won’t forget me, dearie? All right! Just 
so long as we know!” 

Lorna, who had anticipated previous vacations as 
simply a relief from the toil of lessons, went home 

to Naples with quite altered feelings from those of 

272 


273 


In Capri 

former occasions. She was determined that, if it 
possibly lay in her power, she would make her 
father enjoy the time she spent with him. In spite 
of injustice and cruel wrong there might surely be 
some happy hours together, and she would win him 
to live in the present, instead of continually brooding 
over the past. The immense, terrible pathos of the 
situation appealed to the deepest chords in her na¬ 
ture. Her father was still in the prime of his years, 
a handsome, clever man, who might have done much 
in the world. Was it yet too late? Lorna some¬ 
times had faint, budding hopes that in some fresh 
country his wrecked career might be righted, and 
that he might make a new start and rise triumphant 
over the ruin of other days. He was glad to see 
her. There was no doubt about that. The knowl¬ 
edge that she now shared his secret placed her on a 
different footing. It was a relief to him to have 
some one in whom he could confide, some one who 
knew the reason for his hermit mode of living, and 
above all who believed in his innocence. Insensibly 
Lorna’s presence acted upon him for good. The 
nervous, hunted look began to fade out of his eyes, 
and sometimes he actually smiled as she recounted 
the doings of the Camellia Buds, or other happen¬ 
ings at school. 

“Daddy!” she said once, “couldn’t we go out to 
Australia or America, or somewhere where nobody 
would know us, and make a fresh life for our¬ 
selves?” 


274 The jolliest School of All 

A gleam of hope flitted for a moment over the 
sad face. 

“I’ve thought of that, Lorna. Perhaps I’ve been 
too morbid. It seemed to me that every English¬ 
man must know of what I had been accused. And 
I had no credentials to offer. Now, with a five 
years’ reference from the Ferroni Company in 
Naples I might have a chance of a job in Australia. 
It’s worth considering—for your sake, child, if not 
for mine.” 

During the whole of the first week of the holidays 
Lorna amused herself as best she might in their little 
lodgings in Naples. While her father was at the 
office she read or sewed, or played on a wretched old 
piano, which had little tune in it but was better than 
nothing. The evenings were her golden times, for 
then they would go out together, sometimes into the 
Italian quarters of the city, or sometimes by tram 
into the suburbs, where there were beautiful prome¬ 
nades with views of the sea. In these walks she 
grew to be his companion, and instead of shrinking 
from him as in former days, she met him on a new 
footing and gave him of her best. Together they 
planned a home in a fresh hemisphere, and talked 
hopefully of better things that were perhaps in store 
for them over the ocean. And so life went on, and 
father and daughter might have realized their vi¬ 
sion, and have emigrated to another continent where 
no one knew their name or their former history, and 
have made a fresh start and won comparative sue- 


275 


In Capri 

cess, but Dame Fortune, who sometimes has a use 
for our past however bitterly she seems to have mis¬ 
managed it, interfered again, and with fateful fingers 
re-flung the dice. 

It certainly did not seem a fortunate circumstance, 
but quite the reverse, when the grandchildren of their 
landlady, who occupied the etage above their rooms, 
sickened with measles. Lorna had never had the 
complaint, and it was, of course, most important that 
she should not convey germs back to the Villa Camel¬ 
lia, so it was a vital necessity to move her imme¬ 
diately out of the area of infection. Signora Fio- 
renza, harassed but sympathetic, suggested a visit to 
Capri, where her sister, Signora Verdi, who owned 
a little orange farm and had a couple of spare bed¬ 
rooms, would probably take her in for the remainder 
of the holidays, which would give the necessary 
quarantine before returning to the school. 

Mr. Carson jumped at the opportunity, and Lorna 
was told to pack her bag. 

“But Daddy, Daddy!” she remonstrated. “I 
don’t want to leave you. Just when we’re happy 
together must I run away? Do measles matter? 
I’d rather have them and stay here. I would in¬ 
deed.” 

“Don’t be silly, Lorna. Miss Rodgers wouldn’t 
thank you to start an epidemic. Of course you must 
go to Capri. It’s a splendid opportunity. Signora 
Verdi has a nice little villa. Cheer up, child. I’ll 
tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take you myself to-mor- 


276 The Jolliest School of All 

row, stay over Sunday, and come again and spend the 
next week-end with you. I can get an extra day or 
two of holiday if I want, and the Casa Verdi is a 
quiet spot, quite out of the way of tourists. We 
can have the orange groves to ourselves and see no¬ 
body. If I catch the early boat I’m not likely to be 
troubled with English trippers; that’s one good busi¬ 
ness.” 

“Daddy! You darling! Oh, that would be glori¬ 
ous! I’d go to the North Pole if you’d come too. 
Two week-ends with you in Capri! What fun. 
We’ll have the time of our lives!” 

To poor Lorna, who so seldom had the oppor¬ 
tunity of enjoying family outings, this visit indeed 
was an event. She packed her bag joyously, and was 
all excitement to start. 

Following his usual custom of avoiding the vicinity 
of English people, Mr. Carson decided not to go to 
Capri by the ordinary steamer that conveyed plea¬ 
sure-seekers, but to secure passages in a cargo vessel 
which was crossing with supplies. To Lorna the 
mode of conveyance was immaterial; she would 
have sailed cheerfully on a raft if necessary. She 
rather enjoyed the picturesque Neapolitan tramp 
steamer with its cargo of wine barrels and packing 
cases, and its crew of bare-footed, red-capped sea¬ 
men, talking and gesticulating with all the excita¬ 
bility of their Southern temperament. The voyage 
across the blue bay was longer than that to Fos- 
sato, and she sat in a cozy nook among the casks, 


277 


In Capri 

and watched first the white houses of Naples fad¬ 
ing away, then the distant mountains of the coast, 
then the gay sails of the fishing craft that plied to 
and fro over the water. 

It was sunset when they reached the beautiful 
island of Capri, a pink ethereal sunset that flooded 
headland and rock, orange orchard and vineyard, in 
a faint and luminous opal glow. Their vessel an¬ 
chored outside the quay of the Marina Grande, and 
signaled for a boat to take them off. A little skiff 
put out from the beach, and into this they and their 
luggage were transferred. The transparent crystal 
water over which they rowed was clear as an aquar¬ 
ium, and alive with gorgeous medusae whose pink 
tentacles seemed to flash with the colors of the sun¬ 
set; to gaze down at them was like watching a 
flock of sea-butterflies flitting across a background 
of undulating green. 

They landed at the jetty, walked to the shore, and 
after securing a carriage started on a long drive up¬ 
hill to the terreno of Signora Verdi. Capri, betwixt 
the glow of the fading sunset and the light of the 
rising full moon, was a veritable land of romance, 
with its domed eastern-looking houses set in a mass 
of vines and lemon trees, and the luscious scent of 
its many flowers wafted on the evening air. It 
seemed no less attractive in the morning, when, after 
drinking their coffee in a rose-covered arbor that 
stood at the bottom of their landlady’s orange grove, 
they wandered away through the bosco and up on to 


278 The Jolliest School of All 

the open hillside. Here Flora had surely played a 
trick to plant golden genista against the intense sap¬ 
phire blue of a Capri sea, and she must have emptied 
her apron all at once to have spangled the rough 
grass with cistus, anemone, and starry asphodel. 
Below them lay a stretch of rugged rocks and tur¬ 
quoise bay, with no sound to break the silence but the 
tinkling of goat-bells, or the piping of a little dark- 
'eyed boy who practiced a rustic flute as he minded 
his flock. To poor Mr. Carson, wearied with the 
noise and clamor of Naples, it was a veritable Para¬ 
dise, a haven of refuge, a breathing space in the 
dreary pilgrimage of his sad life. On the top of 
this sunlit, rock-crowned islet he gained a short pe¬ 
riod of peace and rest before he once more shoul¬ 
dered his heavy burden. 

“If I could live all my days here, Lorna, who 
knows, I might learn to forget,” he said wistfully. 

“Oh, Dad! We must find a way out somehow. 
You can’t go on like this! It’s killing you. Why 
have we to suffer under this unjust accusation ? Why 
should some one else do a shameful deed and shift 
the blame on to you ? Is there no plan by which you 
could clear your name?” 

“I’ve asked myself that question, Lorna, through 
many black hours, but I’ve never hit on an answer.” 

“I hate the man who’s wronged you,” she sobbed 
passionately. “Yes! I hate him—hate him—hate 
him—and all belonging to him. Is it wicked to hate ? 
I can’t help it when it’s my own father’s honor that’s 


279 


In Capri 

at stake. Oh, Daddy, Daddy, if I could only ‘get 
even’ I’d be content. It seems so hard to let the 
wicked prosper and just do nothing. Why should 
some people have all the laughter of life and others 
all the tears?” 

Lorna parted reluctantly from her father on Mon¬ 
day morning. He sailed by a very early boat, so that 
the sun had not yet risen high, as, after watching his 
vessel leave the harbor, she turned from the Marina 
to walk back to the Casa Verdi. Half of the little 
town was still asleep. There were no signs of life 
in the hotel, where the wistaria was blooming in a 
purple shower over the veranda, and green shutters 
barred the lower windows of most of the villas. A 
few peasant people were stirring about; three dark¬ 
eyed girls, as straight as Greek goddesses, were com¬ 
ing down the steep path from Anacapri with orange 
baskets on their heads, and their hands full of posies 
of pink cyclamen; a mother with a child clinging to 
her yellow-bordered skirt was taking an earthenware 
pitcher to the well for water; a persistent bell in the 
little church of S. Costanzo was calling some to 
prayers, and others were starting the ordinary rou¬ 
tine of the day, attending to animals, cutting salads 
in their gardens, spreading out fishing-nets, or get¬ 
ting ready the hand barrows on which they sold 
their wares. In the gleaming morning light the 
beautiful island seemed more than ever like a radiant 
jewel set in a sapphire sea. Lorna had left the 
winding highroad, and was taking a short cut up 


280 The Jolliest School of All 

flights of steep steps between the flowery gardens 
of villas, where geraniums grew like weeds, and 
every bush seemed a mass of scented blossoms. She 
was passing a small flat-topped eastern house, whose 
gatepost bore the attractive title of “La Carina,” 
when she suddenly heard her own name called, and 
turning round, startled and surprised, what should 
she see peeping over the cactus hedge but the smiling 
face and blonde bobbed locks of Irene. The amaze¬ 
ment was mutual. 

“Hello! What are you doing in Capri?” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m staying up on the hill!” 

“And we’re staying at this villa!” 

“To think of meeting you!” 

“Sporting, isn’t it? Come inside the garden! I 
can’t talk to you down there in the road.” 

That her chum should actually also have come to 
Capri for the holidays seemed a marvelous piece of 
luck to Lorna. 

“We decided quite in a hurry,” explained Irene. 
“Dad heard this little place was to let furnished, and 
took it for three weeks. The Camerons have taken 
that big pink house over there, with the umbrella 
pine in the garden. Peachy is staying with them. 
Isn’t it absolutely ripping? I was only saying yester¬ 
day I wished you were here too. And my cousin 
Marjorie Anderson and her friends are stopping at 
the hotel, just down below. We’re having the most 
glorious times all together. Here’s Vincent! Vin, 



“THE AMAZEMENT WAS MUTUAL” 

—Page 28o 

/ 







































281 


In Capri 

you remember meeting Lorna at school? She’s ac¬ 
tually staying in Capri! No, don’t go, Lorna! Sit 
down and talk! Now I’ve found you I mean to 
keep you. We’re not generally up so early, but Dad 
wants to catch the first steamer. He has to get back 
to Naples this morning.” 

“My father has gone already by a sailing vessel.” 

“Then you are alone? Oh, I say! You must 
spend most of your time with us. It’s a lucky chance 
that has blown you our way, isn’t it ? We seem quite 
a cluster of Camellia Buds in Capri.” 

So Lorna, who had expected a very quiet, not to 
say dull, visit at the Casa Verdi during her father’s 
absence, found herself instead in the midst of hos¬ 
pitable friends who extended cordial invitations to 
her for every occasion. 

“By all means let your friend join us,” agreed Mrs. 
Beverley, in answer to her daughter’s urgent re¬ 
quest. “We’ve heard so much about Lorna in your 
letters. She seems a nice girl. I remember I was 
quite struck with her when I saw her at your school 
carnival. One more or less makes no difference for 
picnics. It must certainly be slow for her up there 
with only an Italian landlady to talk to, poor child.” 

Capri was an idyllic place for holiday-making. 
The beautiful climate, perfect at this season of the 
year, made living out of doors a delight. Every day 
the various friends met together, and either went for 
excursions or passed happy hours in each other’s 
gardens The Camerons had several young people 


282 The Jolliest School of All 

staying with them as well as Peachy, and the party 
at the hotel proved a great acquisition. This con¬ 
sisted of Captain Hilton Preston and his sister Joyce, 
their married sister Kathleen and her husband, Mr. 
Frank Roper, and Marjorie Anderson, who was 
traveling under their chaperonage. They were fond 
of the sea, and had at once made arrangements to 
hire a boat and a boatman for their visit, so that 
they might have as much pleasure as possible on the 
water during their short stay. 

“We shan’t be able to paddle about on the Medi¬ 
terranean when we get home,” said Captain Preston 
with mock tragedy. “My leave will soon be up and 
I shall be off to India again. It’s a case of ‘Let’s en¬ 
joy while the season invites us.’ These rocks and 
bays and coves are simply magnificent. We’ve de¬ 
cided to go to the Blue Grotto to-day. Who cares 
to join us?” 

This was an expedition which could only be under¬ 
taken when the sea was absolutely calm, so, as even 
the Mediterranean may be treacherous, and sudden 
squalls can lash its smooth surface into waves, it was 
wise to take advantage of a cloudless day. 

“We’ll start early, so as to arrive there before 
the steamer, and have the grotto to ourselves, in¬ 
stead of going in with a rabble of tourists,” de¬ 
creed Hilton Preston. 

“Four boatfuls of us will be a big enough party,” 
agreed Vincent. “They say the best light is at about 
eleven.” 


283 


In Capri 

The group of friends therefore set off from the 
Marina in their various craft. The row along the 
base of the precipitous craggy shore was most beau¬ 
tiful, the water swarmed with gayly-colored sea-stars 
and jelly-fish, and on the rocks at the edge of the 
waves grew gorgeous madrepores, and other “frutti 
di mare.” The Blue Grotto is one of the wonders of 
Italy, but to explore it is not a particularly easy 
matter, for its entrance is scarcely three feet in 
height. 

“My! Have we got to squeeze under there!” 
exclaimed Peachy wonderingly, looking at the tiny 
space at the foot of the crag through which they 
would be obliged to pass. 

“Not in these boats, of course,” said Vin¬ 
cent. “The skiffs are waiting, and if we just leave 
it to the boatmen they’ll show us how to man¬ 
age.” 

The tiny craft that were in readiness for visitors 
now came forward, and the party was transferred to 
them. Three passengers were taken in each skiff, 
and were required to lie flat on their backs in the 
bottom of the boat. The boatman paddled to the 
entrance of the grotto, then also lying on his back 
he directed the skiff into a low passage, working his 
way along by pulling at a chain which was fastened 
to the roof of the rocky corridor. In a short space 
of time they shot into an enormous cavern, 175 feet 
in length, and over 40 feet in height. Here for a 
moment or two all seemed dazzled, but as their be- 



284 The Jolliest School of AH 

wildered vision gradually grew accustomed to the 
light they saw that everything in the grotto, walls, 
sea, or any objects, appeared of a heavenly blue 
color. The faces of their friends, their own hands, 
the water when they scooped it up and dropped it 
again, all were turned to sapphire, while articles 
under the sea gleamed with a beautiful silver shade. 
The girls bared their arms and enjoyed dipping 
them to obtain this effect. The glorious blue of the 
cave was indescribable. 

“I feel like a mermaid at the bottom of the 
ocean,” exulted Peachy. 

“Or a cherub in the sky!” said Jess. 

“Why is it blue though?” asked Lorna. 

“Because of the refraction of light,” explained 
Mrs. Beverley from the next boat. “We see a kind 
of concentrated reflection of the sky sent to us under 
the sea. If it were a gray day outside it would be 
gray in here too. Some people think that the Medi¬ 
terranean has risen, and that once the water in this 
grotto was much lower, so that boats could sail in 
and out of it quite easily. Do you see that landing- 
place over there? It leads to some broken steps and 
a blocked-up passage that tradition says wound up 
through the cliff right to the villa of Tiberius. Per¬ 
haps it was a secret way by which he thought he 
might escape if danger threatened him.” 

“How I’d love to explore it,” sighed Irene. 

“It only goes a little way before it is blocked. It’s 
hardly worth landing to look at it. Be careful, 


285 


In Capri 

Renie! If you lean over the edge of the boat so far 
you’ll be upsetting us, and, although we might look 
very delightful and silvery objects under the water, 
I’m not at all anxious to offer myself for the experi¬ 
ment.” 

“Why don’t they enlarge the entrance?” asked 
Vincent. 

“Because nobody is sure whether by doing so they 
might or might not spoil the beautiful effect of blue 
light in the grotto. It’s too risky a venture to try. 
Besides in present conditions the boatmen make a 
great deal of money by taking tourists into the 
grotto. If it were very easy to get in they could not 
charge so much. It’s a little mine of wealth to the 
Capri fisherfolk now, though years ago they used to 
say the place was haunted, and tell terrible tales 
about it. They said fire and smoke had been seen 
issuing from the entrance, that creatures like croco¬ 
diles crept in and out, that every day the opening ex¬ 
panded and contracted seven times, that at night the 
Sirens sang sweetly there, that any young fishermen 
who ventured to sail near disappeared and were 
never seen again, and that the place was full of 
human bones.” 

“What a gruesome record,” declared Vincent. “I 
agree with Renie though, I’d like to explore that 
passage with a strong bicycle lamp, or an electric 
torch. Who knows what we might find if we looked 
a b ou t—a coin that Tiberius had dropped out of his 
pocket, or one of the Sirens’ hairpins, or a crocodile’s 


286 The Jolliest School of All 

tooth at least. Yes, I must positively come again, 
Mater. Just to prove the truth of your stories.” 

“Silly boy,” laughed his mother. “I expect every 
stone of the place has been well turned over in 
search of treasure. Trust the fisher people not to 
lose a chance. Now our stay here’s limited by the 
official tariff to a quarter of an hour, and if we stop 
any longer we shall have to pay our dues a second 
time. If you’re ready so am I. Tell the first boat 
to go on. Don’t forget we must lie on our backs 
again to scrape through the entrance.” 


CHAPTER XX 


The Cameron Clan 

Lorna had never realized before how much of life 
can be compressed into a few days. The interval 
between her father’s departure for Naples and his 
return for the week-end was spent almost entirely 
with her friends. It marked for her an altogether 
new phase of existence. She had read in books about 
jolly families of brothers and sisters, and parties of 
young people, but her own experience was strictly 
limited to school. Here in Capri, for the first time 
she tasted the delights of which she had often 
dreamed, and found herself cordially included in a 
charmed circle. Though the Beverleys were mainly 
responsible for thus taking her up, the Camerons 
also offered much kindness. “The Cameron Clan” 
as they called themselves, consisted of father, 
mother, Jess, and two brothers, Angus and Stewart, 
and almost every evening the young folk would meet 
at their villa and gather round a wood fire in the 
salon. Though the days were so warm the nights 
were chilly, and it was cheerful to watch the blazing 
logs. What times they had together! It was an 
established rule that everybody contributed some 

287 


288 The Jolliest School of All 

item to the general entertainment, and in spite of 
fierce denials even the least accomplished were com¬ 
pelled to perform. It brought out quite unexpected 
talent. Peachy, who had always declared her music 
“wasn’t up to anything,” charmed the company by 
lilting darkie melodies or pathetic Indian songs, Cap¬ 
tain Preston remembered conjuring tricks which he 
had learned in India, Mr. Roper proved a genius at 
relating short stories, and Mrs. Cameron could re¬ 
cite old ballads with the fervor of a medieval min¬ 
strel. The walls of the Italian salon seemed to melt 
away and change to a wild moorland or a northern 
castle as she declaimed “Fair Helen of Kirconnell,” 
“The Lament of the Border Widow,” “Bartrum’s 
Dirge,” or “The Braes o’ Yarrow.” 

“Modern people want more poetry in their veins,” 
she insisted. “I’ve no patience with the stuff most 
of them read. There’s more romance in one of 
those stories of ancient times than you’d find in a 
whole boxful of the latest library books. People 
weren’t ashamed of their feelings then, and they put 
them into beautiful words. Nowadays it seems to 
me they’ve neither the feelings nor the language to 
clothe them in. I’m a century or two too late. I 
ought to have lived when the world was younger.” 

If his wife adored her native ballads Mr. Ca¬ 
meron, on his part, had a good stock of Scottish 
songs, and would trill them out in a fine baritone 
voice, the audience joining with enthusiasm in the 
choruses of such favorites as “Bonny Dundee,” 


The Cameron Clan 289 

“Charlie is my Darling,” and “Over the Sea to 
Skye.” 

“There’s a ring about Jacobite melodies that ab¬ 
solutely grips you,” said Mrs. Beverley, begging for 
“Wha wad na fecht for Charlie,” and “Farewell 
Manchester.” “Perhaps it’s in my blood, for my 
ancestors were Jacobites. One of them was a beauti¬ 
ful girl in 1745, and sat on a balcony to watch her 
prince ride into Faircaster. The cavalcade came to 
a halt under her window and ‘Charlie’ looked up and 
saw her, and asked her to dance at the ball that was 
being given that night in the town. She was greatly 
set up by the honor, and handed the tradition of it 
down the family as something that must never be 
forgotten. Oh! I’d have fought for the ‘Hieland 
laddie’ myself if I’d been a man in his days. Is the 
spirit of personal loyalty dead? We give patriotic 
devotion to our country, but love such as that of an 
ancient Highlander for his hereditary chief seems 
absolutely a thing of the past.” 

While their elders entertained the circle with 
northern legends or border ballads the young people 
also did their share, and contributed such choice 
morsels as ghost stories, adventures in foreign lands, 
or weird tales of the occult. Stewart, who was an 
omnivorous reader of magazines, tried to demon¬ 
strate the romance of modern literature, though he 
could never convince his mother of its equality with 
old-world favorites. Marjorie Anderson, who had 
a sweet voice, loved soldier ditties, and caroled them 


290 The Jolliest School of All 

much to the admiration of Captain Preston, who al¬ 
ways managed to contrive to get a seat near her 
particular corner of the fireside. 

“I believe those two are ‘a match,’ ” whispered 
Peachy to Irene one evening. 

“So do I. They met first when Marjorie was at 
school. Dona told me all about it, and it was quite 
romantic. They’d have seen more of each other 
only, after the armistice, his regiment was ordered 
out to India. He’s home on leave now. He wrote 
to Marjorie all the time he was away, regularly. 
She’s tremendous friends with his sisters, and they 
asked her to join them on this tour. Looks suspi¬ 
cious, doesn’t it?” 

“Rather! I hope it will really come off,” an¬ 
swered Peachy, looking sympathetically at the at¬ 
tractive pair whose chairs always seemed to gravi¬ 
tate together. “She’s pretty! And his brown eyes 
are the twinkliest I’ve ever seen! Yes! I’m pre¬ 
pared to give them my blessing! I only wish he’d 
get on with it. Why doesn’t somebody give him a 
push over the brink and make him propose? He’s 
marking time, and for two cents I’d tell him so my¬ 
self. I guess his eyes would pop out, but I shouldn’t 
care! Don’t be alarmed! I promise I won’t inter¬ 
fere. But onlookers see the most of the game, and 
with an affair like this under my very nose I’ll be 
mad if they don’t fix it up.” 

Captain Preston was hardly likely to conduct his 
love-making under full fire of inquisitive eyes, but he 


291 


The Cameron Clan 

generally managed to appropriate Marjorie on walks 
or excursions; they strolled out together to admire 
the moon, hunted for orchids on the hills, searched 
the beach for shells, and saw enough of one an¬ 
other’s society to satisfy the most ardent match¬ 
makers. It was an established fact that these two 
should always sit together in boat or carriage, but 
the rest of the party revolved like a kaleidoscope. 
Lorna sometimes found herself escorted by Stewart 
or Angus, sometimes by Charlie or Michael Foard, 
the friends who were staying with them, and oftener 
still by Vincent Beverley, whose fair hair, blue eyes, 
and merry face—so like Irene’s—specially attracted 
her. She was so unaccustomed to have a cavalier at 
all that it seemed wonderful to her that any one 
should take the trouble to carry her basket, pick 
flowers that grew out of her reach, help her up dif¬ 
ficult steps or hand her into a rocking boat. This 
new aspect of the world was very sweet. Insensibly 
it affected her. 

“Lorna’s growing so pretty,” commented Peachy 
to Irene. “She’s a queer girl. At school she goes 
about looking almost plain and as dreary as an owl. 
She’s suddenly jumped into life here. Anybody who 
hadn’t seen the two sides of her wouldn’t believe the 
difference. When she’s animated she’s nearly beau¬ 
tiful.” 

“I don’t think she’s ever been really appreciated 
at the Villa Camellia,” replied Irene. “Mums likes 
her immensely. She says there’s so much in her, and 


292 The Jolliest School of All 

that she only wants ‘mothering’ to bring her out. 
As for Vin, his head’s turned. He’s made me vow 
faithfully to engineer that he sits next to Lorna in 
the boat to-day. Are you going with Stewart? 
Well, I’ve promised Michael if he’s a particularly 
good boy I’ll let him row me in the little skiff. I 
dare say Charlie will be angry, but I can’t help 
it. The Foards are as alike as buttons in looks, 
but the younger one is so infinitely nicer than the 
other.” 

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had slipped 
blissfully by. Except for the few hours daily during 
which the steamer from Naples visited Capri, with 
promenade deck filled with tourists, the little island 
was wonderfully quiet, and by keeping away from 
the Marina Grande or the highroads it was possible 
to avoid other holiday-makers. If they were not on 
the sea “the clan,” as the whole party liked to call 
themselves, generally went up the hills to escape 
civilization. The natives had begun to know them, 
and though they might be offered oranges, figs, or 
dates by street vendors they were not continually 
pestered to take carriages, engage guides or donkeys, 
or buy picture post-cards or long strings of coral. 
Irene loved occasional excursions into the white town 
on the rock. The strict rules and convent seclusion 
of the Villa Camellia had given her no opportunity 
of sampling shops at Fossato, so, except for her half- 
term holiday at Naples, this was her first experience 


293 


The Cameron Clan 

of marketing in Italy. The unfamiliar money and 
measures were of course confusing, but the quaint 
little cakes, the lollipops wrapped in fringed tissue 
paper of gay colors, the sugar hearts, the plaited 
baskets, the inlaid boxes, the mosaic brooches, the 
beads, and the hundred and one cheap trifles spread 
forth on stalls or in windows fascinated her, and 
drew many lire from her purse. She only knew a 
few words of colloquial Italian, but she used these to 
the best advantage, and made up the rest with nods 
and smiles, a language well understood by the kindly 
people of Capri, to whom a gesture is as eloquent 
as a whole sentence. Vincent, whose talents ran 
more towards prowess at football than a gift for 
languages, would often escort his sister, and con¬ 
ducted his bargaining by pointing to what he wanted 
and counting the price in lire on his five fingers, an 
operation that caused fits of amusement to the shop¬ 
keepers, with whom the fair young Englishman be¬ 
came quite a favorite. As long as Vincent could see 
what he wished for on sale and indicate it with a 
finger he got along all right, but matters grew com¬ 
plicated if he tried to explain himself. One day 
his mother, having run short of methylated spirit 
for her teakettle, sent him with a bottle to buy some 
more. He looked the words up in a dictionary, en¬ 
tered a chemist’s, and demanded “alcohol for burn¬ 
ing” in his best Italian. The assistant seemed mysti¬ 
fied, but suddenly a light flooded his intelligent face, 


294 The Jolliest School of All 

he flew to a series of neat little drawers behind the 
counter, rummaged about, and in much triumph pro¬ 
duced an “Alcock’s porous plaster,” which he vehe¬ 
mently assured Vincent would be sure to burn, and 
was a real English medicine, imported with great 
trouble and expense, and certain to cure the ailment 
from which he was suffering. How Vincent would 
have got out of the tangle, or convinced the chemist’s 
assistant that he was not in need of medical aid, is 
uncertain, but at that moment Irene, who was walk¬ 
ing with Lorna in the square, spied him through the 
window, and brought her chum to the rescue. 
Lorna’s Italian was excellent; she soon unravelled 
the matter, returned the porous plaster to the disap¬ 
pointed assistant, and explained to Vincent that the 
local name for methylated spirit was “spirito,” and 
that it was generally procured from an oil color- 
man’s. 

“How was I to know?” grumbled Vincent drama¬ 
tically. “A fellow goes by the dictionary.” 

“It’s always called ‘alcohol’ in Rome, and in some 
other places,” pacified Lorna, who was still laughing 
at the mistake, “and I’ve bought it at a chemist’s 
myself in Naples. Come along round the corner and 
we’ll find the right shop. I had my own bottle filled 
there yesterday, so I know where to go.” 

On the Friday, Mrs. Cameron, who by universal 
consent had constituted herself organizer' of the 
various joint expeditions, sent out invitations for a 
grand gathering of the Clan to go and view the 


295 


The Cameron Clan 

ruins of the villa of Tiberius. This was one of the 
principal sights of the island, and, as the Preston 
party were not staying over the following week, it 
would have seemed a pity for them to miss it. 

“It’s a case of taking nose-bags and going for the 
day,” said Stewart, delivering his messages at the 
various villas. “Meeting-place, the piazza in the 
town. Those who like to come up by the funicular 
can do so. We’ll wait for them. I think the Mater 
will take the train and save herself some of the 
climb. She doesn’t like these endless steps, and it’s 
certainly a pull from our place to the town. It’s 
worth while walking down to the Marina to get the 
railway.” 

Mrs. Beverley, Mrs. Roper, and Joyce Preston 
joined Mrs. Cameron in taking advantage of the lit¬ 
tle “Ferrovia Funicolare” that connected the har¬ 
bor with the town, and arrived on the piazza cool 
and fresh compared with those who had preferred 
to toil up the steep path. 

“I told you to come with me, Renie child,” chided 
Mrs. Beverley. “Look how hot you are already. 
You’ll be quite overdone before we get to the sum¬ 
mit.” 

“Oh, Mums darling, I’m not tired! I’ve saved 
the fare and bought this swanky little cane instead. 
Look! Isn’t it dinky?” protested Irene, proudly ex¬ 
hibiting her newly purchased treasure. “It has a 
leather strap and a tassel and a knob that one can 
suck.” 


296 The Jolliest School of All 

“You baby,” laughed her mother. “We shall 
have to buy you a tin trumpet. I don’t believe you’re 
out of the nursery yet.” 

“Tin trumpet, Mums darling? Oh! You’ve 
given me such an idea,” purred Irene, running to 
Michael Foard and whispering some communication 
into his sympathetic ear, which caused him to walk 
back to a certain street stall and purchase nine tin 
whistles, with which the younger members of the 
party armed themselves and immediately began a 
desperate attempt to reproduce “The Bluebells of 
Scotland,” hugely to the entertainment of the na¬ 
tives, who flocked to their doors all smiles and 
amused exclamations. 

“Bairns! I think shame of you,” declared Mrs. 
Cameron. “They’ll take us for a wandering circus. 
Put those unmusical instruments in your pockets till 
we’re clear of the town. I never heard a poor Scot¬ 
tish air so mangled. You may practice your band 
on the hills and scare the goats. Don’t play it in 
my ears again till you catch the proper tune.” 

The musicians, after their first burst of enthusiasm 
was expended, were glad to save their breath for the 
climb. When houses were left behind their way 
wound between high walls, up, up, up, along a paved 
pathway among orange groves, till at last the allot¬ 
ments disappeared, and they were on the open hill¬ 
side, among the low shrubs and the rough grass and 
the beautiful flowers. Irene, running up a bank in 
quest of bee-orchises, broke her new cane into four 


297 


The Cameron Clan 

pieces, but was somewhat consoled by a stick which 
Michael cut her from a chestnut tree. 

“It hasn’t a knob to suck,” he laughed, “but I’ll 
tie a stick of peppermint on to the end of it if you 
like.” 

“Don’t tease me, or I’ll throw a squashy orange 
at you.” 

“I thought you were fond of peppermint.” 

“So I am, and if there’s another of those creamy 
Neapolitans left in your pocket I’ll accept it and for¬ 
give you.” 

“Right you are, O Queen! There are two here. 
Does your Majesty prefer a purple paper or a 
green?” 

The ruins, which formed the goal of their expedi¬ 
tion, were the remains of a once splendid villa 
erected by the Emperor Tiberius, and used constantly 
by him until his death in a.d. 37. Most of the party 
were disappointed to find them, as Peachy expressed 
it, “so very ruiny.” It was difficult to picture what 
the original palace must have been like, for nothing 
was left of all the grandeur but crumbling walls, 
over which Nature had scattered ferns and flowers. 
At the very top some of the old masonry had been 
used to build a tiny church; this was closed, but, 
peeping through the grille in the door, the visitors 
could catch glimpses of blue-painted roof and of lit¬ 
tle model ships, placed as votive offerings by the 
sailors in gratitude for preservation from danger at 
sea. Outside this chapel was a great stone monu- 


298 The Jolliest School of All 

ment built so near the edge of the cliff that, when 
sitting on its steps, one could look down a sheer drop 
of several hundred feet into the blue waters below. 
The view from here was magnificent, and as the 
Clan, in turns, scanned the neighboring coast of 
Italy with field glasses, they believed they could even 
distinguish the Greek temples at Paestum. The girls 
described the glorious excursion they had taken there 
from school. 

“You were lucky to be able to go all the way by 
char-a-banc,” commented Mrs. Cameron. “Dad and 
I went there on our honeymoon, years and years ago, 
and traveled all the way from Naples by a terrible 
little jolting train that carried cattle-trucks and lug¬ 
gage-trucks as well as passenger carriages. I shan’t 
ever forget that journey. We had to leave the sta¬ 
tion at 6.30 and when we came downstairs we found 
it was a pouring wet day. It was only the fact that 
the sleepy looking waiter at our hotel must have 
roused himself at 5 a.m. to prepare our coffee, and 
that we did not like to ask him to do it again an¬ 
other morning, that forced us to set off in the rain. 
I never felt so disinclined for an excursion in my 
life. Dad said afterwards if I’d given him the least 
hint he’d have joyfully relinquished it, but each 
thought the other wanted to go, so off we set. All 
the way to Cava it simply streamed, and we sat in 
our corners of the carriage secretly calling ourselves 
idiots, and wondering how we were going to look 
over temples in a deluge. But our heroism was re- 


299 


The Cameron Clan 

warded, for just as the train crossed the brigand’s 
marsh the rain stopped and the sun shone out, and 
the effect of blue sky and clouds was simply glorious. 
We had a great joke at Paestum. A mosquito had 
stung me badly on one lid so that I looked as if I 
had a black eye. It was most uncomfortable and 
painful, I remember. Well, a party of French 
tourists were going round the temples, and as they 
passed us they glanced at my eye and then at Daddy 
—a husband of three weeks’ standing—and they 
murmured something to one another. I couldn’t 
catch their words, but quite plainly they were saying: 
‘Oh, these dreadful English! He’s evidently given 
her a black eye, poor thing! That’s how they treat 
their wives!’ 

“The French people went on to the second temple, 
and Dad and I sat down to eat our lunch. We were 
fearfully annoyed by dogs that sat in front of us and 
watched every mouthful, and barked incessantly. 
(Did they trouble you too! How funny! They 
must surely be the descendants of our dogs who’ve 
inherited a bad habit.) Dad got so utterly exasper¬ 
ated that he said he must and would get rid of 
them, so he seized my umbrella, shook it furiously 
at them and yelled out 'Va via* in the most awful 
and blood-curdling voice he could command. Just at 
that moment the French tourists came back round 
the corner. They turned to one another with nods 
of comprehension, as if they were saying, ‘There! 
Didn’t I tell you so! See what a brute he really is,’ 


300 The Jolliest School of All 

and they cast the most sympathetic glances at me as 
they filed by. Isn’t that true, Daddy?” 

Mr. Cameron lazily removed his cigarette. 

“It’s a stock story, my dear, that you’ve told 
against me for the last twenty years. I won’t say 
that it’s not exaggerated. Go on telling it if you 
like. My back’s broad enough to bear it. Shall I 
return good for evil? Well, as I walked through the 
town to-day, waiting till you came up by the funicu¬ 
lar, I saw one of the Tarantella dancers, and I en¬ 
gaged the whole troupe to come to the house to-night 
and give us a performance. You said you wanted 
to see them. Will our friends here honor us with 
their company and help to act audience?” 

It seemed an appropriate ending to such a delight¬ 
ful day, and all the party readily accepted the invita¬ 
tion. After twilight fell they assembled at the 
Camerons’ villa and took their places in the salon, 
which had been temporarily cleared of some of its 
furniture. The Tarantella dancers, who were ac¬ 
customed to give their small exhibition to visitors, 
brought their own orchestra with them, a thin youth 
who played the violin, a stout individual who plucked 
the mandolin, and an enthusiast who twanged the 
guitar. The performers were charmingly dressed in 
the old native costumes of the country, the men in 
soft white shirts, green sleeveless velvet coats, red 
plush knickers, silk stockings and shoes with scarlet 
bows, while the girls wore gay skirts, striped sashes, 
lace fichus, and aprons, and gold beads round their 


301 


The Cameron Clan 

shapely throats. They danced several sprightly 
measures, waving tambourines and rattling castanets, 
or twining silk scarves together, while the musicians 
fiddled and strummed their hardest; then six of them 
stood aside and the two principal artists advanced to 
do a “star turn.” “Romeo” sang an impassioned 
love song, with his hand on his heart, while “Juli¬ 
ette” plucked at her apron and appeared doubtful of 
the truth of his protestations. Then the “funny 
man” had his innings. He sat in a chair with a shoe 
in his hand and tried to smack the head of a humor¬ 
ist who knelt in front but always managed neatly to 
avoid his blows, the whole being punctuated by vig¬ 
orous exclamations in Italian, and much energetic 
music from the orchestra. 

A pretty girl sauntered next on to the scene, and 
sang—in a rather peacock voice—a little ditty la¬ 
menting the weather, at which a velvet-coated cava¬ 
lier came to the rescue, and chanting his offer of help 
sheltered her with a huge green umbrella, under 
which they proceeded to make love, and finally exe¬ 
cuted a dance beneath its friendly shade. The 
whole of the little performance was very graceful 
and attractive, savoring so thoroughly of Southern 
Italy and showing the courteous manners and win¬ 
ning smiles to the utmost advantage. The dancers 
themselves seemed to have enjoyed it, and stood 
with beaming faces as they bowed their adieux and 
thanked the audience for their kind attention. 

“Aren’t they just too perfect,” commented Peachy. 


302 The Jolliest School of All 

U 1 want to wear a velvet bodice and a green skirt 
with a yellow border. I want to dance the tarantella 
with a tambourine in my hand.” 

“Won’t a two-step content you?” said Angus. 
“Mater says since the room is cleared we may just 
as well finish with a little hop ourselves. May I 
have the pleasure? Thanks so much. Mrs. Bever¬ 
ley’s going to play for us. It’s a beast of a piano 
but it’s good enough to dance to. We mustn’t notice 
if the bass is out of tune.” 


CHAPTER XXI 

The Blue Grotto 


Very early on Saturday morning Mr. Carson re¬ 
turned to Capri in a sailing vessel, having taken ad¬ 
vantage of a night crossing and arriving with the 
dawn. Lorna had bidden her friends a temporary 
good-by for the week-end, refusing all kind invita¬ 
tions of “bring your father to see us,” or “tell him 
he must join the Clan.” She felt that her excuses 
for him were of the flimsiest; she said he was tired, 
unwell, and needed absolute rest and solitude, and 
begged them to forgive her if she spent the time with 
him alone, and, though they replied that they could 
understand his desire for quiet, she was conscious 
that they thought she might at least have volunteered 
an introduction. Lorna knew only too well that, if 
her father was aware there was the slightest danger 
of meeting English people, he would probably insist 
upon taking the next boat back to Naples; it was the 
consciousness of complete isolation that gave the 
value to his holiday. She told him indeed that she 
had met some of her school friends and had taken 
walks with them, but she mentioned that they were 
staying down below, nearer the Marina, and that 
they were not in the least likely to come up to the 
Casa Verdi. 


303 


304 The Jolliest School of All 

“Let us take our books, Daddy,” she suggested, 
“and go and sit on the hillside as we did last Sun¬ 
day. It was quiet on that ledge of the crag, and 
away from everybody. The rest did you good, and 
I’m sure you enjoyed it.” 

Lying on the cliff among the flowers, with blue sky 
above and blue sea beneath, poor Mr. Carson al¬ 
lowed himself a temporary relaxation. He smoked 
his pipe and read his paper, and for a little while at 
least the hard lines round his mouth softened, and 
his anxious eyes grew easy. He finished his Italian 
journal, lay idly watching the scenery, chatted, 
dozed, and finally stretched out his hand for one of 
Lorna’s books. It happened to be an Anthology of 
Poetry which Irene had lent her, and which con¬ 
tained one of the ballads that Mrs. Cameron had 
recited to the assembled Clan. It had struck 
Lorna’s fancy, and she was trying to learn it by 
heart. Mr. Carson turned over the pages, read a 
few of the pieces, and was closing the little volume 
when his eye chanced to light upon the name written 
on the title page. Its effect upon him was like a 
charge of electricity. 

“David Beverley,” he gasped. “David Beverley! 
Lorna! Great Heavens! By all that’s sacred, 
where did you get this?” 

“Why, Dad! What’s the matter? Irene lent me 
the book. It belongs to her father.” 

“Her father! You don’t mean to tell me your 
friend’s father is David Beverley?” 



“ ‘BY ALL THAT’S SACRED, WHERE DID YOU GET THIS 

BOOK?’ ” 

—Page 3o4- 



The Blue Grotto 305 

“Why not, Dad,” whispered Lorna, looking with 
apprehension into his haggard, excited face. 

She guessed even before he spoke what the answer 
was going to be. 

“David Beverley is the man who ruined my 
life!” 

The blow which had fallen was utterly overwhelm¬ 
ing. For a moment Lorna fought against the knowl¬ 
edge like a drowning man battling with the waters. 

“Oh, Dad! Surely there’s some mistake. It 
can’t be! Isn’t it some other Beverley perhaps?” 

“I know his writing only too well. There’s no 
possibility of a mistake. Besides, I saw him in 
Naples—at the end of February. I haven’t forgot¬ 
ten the shock it gave me. Why,” turning almost 
fiercely upon Lorna, “didn’t you tell me your school¬ 
fellow’s name before? Have you all this time been 
making friends with your father’s enemy?” 

“I thought I’d often talked about Renie,” faltered 
poor Lorna. “Perhaps I never mentioned her sur¬ 
name. Oh, Dad! Dad! Is it really true? It’s too 
horrible to be believed.” 

Lying in the soft Capri grass, with the pink cistus 
flowers brushing her hot cheeks, Lorna raged im- 
potently against the tragedy of a fate which was 
changing the dearest friendship of her life into a 
feud. Irene!—the only one at school who had sym¬ 
pathized and understood her, who had behaved with 
a delicacy and kindness such as no other person had 
ever shown her, who had taken her into her home 


306 The Jolliest School of All 

circle and given her the happiest time she had ever 
had in her shadowed girlhood; Irene with her merry 
gray eyes and her bright sunny hair, the very incar¬ 
nation of warm-hearted genuine affection—Irene, 
her roommate, her buddy, her chosen confidante. 
How was it possible ever to regard her as an enemy? 
Yet had she not vowed a solemn oath to hate all be¬ 
longing to the man who had so desperately injured 
them? Oh! The world seemed turning upside 
down. Loyalty to her father and love for her friend 
dragged different ways, and in the bitter conflict her 
heart was torn in two. 

Mr. Carson, haunted to the verge of insanity by 
the terror of discovery, was now obsessed with the 
one idea of escape from Mr. Beverley. He no 
longer felt safe on the island. Any moment he 
dreaded to meet faces that would betray recognition 
of his past. The calm and content of his visit were 
utterly shattered, and a sudden violent impulse urged 
him to return to Naples. 

“Capri is not large enough to hold myself and 
David Beverley,” he declared. “We’ll go back by 
the night boat, Lorna. Meantime we’ll borrow 
Signor Verdi’s skiff and paddle about among the 
rocks. I feel easier on water than on land. I like 
the sense of a space of ocean round me. You can’t 
suddenly meet a man when you’ve plenty of sea- 
room, can you?” 

“No, no, Dad!” said Lorna, trying to soothe him. 
“We can walk down the steps to the cove and get 


The Blue Grotto 307 

the skiff, and be quite away from everybody once 
we are on the sea.” 

She was ready to humor his every whim, for in the 
blackness of her trouble nothing seemed at present 
to really matter. The whirling eddies of her 
thoughts rushed through her brain in a perpetual 
series of questions and answers. Must hate strike 
the death knell of love? Surely the only thing to 
do with an injury is to forgive it. Would revenge 
wipe out the wrong or in any way solve anything? 
No, there would only be one more wrong done in the 
world, to go on in ever-widening circles of hatred 
and misery. Curses, like chickens, come home to 
roost, and “getting even” may bring its own punish¬ 
ment. 

“Our only chance is to go away and start afresh 
in a new country,” she sobbed. “At the other side 
of the Pacific we might forget—but no! Renie! 
Renie! If I go to the back of beyond I shan’t forget 
you, and all you’ve been to me. The memory of you, 
darling, will last until the end of my life.” 

Mr. Carson found Signor Verdi working in his 
allotment, obtained leave from him to use the skiff, 
and climbing down the flight of steep steps cut in 
the rock, reached the cove where the boat was 
beached on the shingle. He had been an expert 
oarsman from his college days, and understood Nea¬ 
politan waters, so in a short time he and Lorna were 
skimming gently over the surface of the blue sea, 
keeping well away from rocks and out of currents, 


308 The Jolliest School of All 

but within reasonable distance of the land. Some¬ 
times they rowed and sometimes they drifted, hardly 
caring in what direction they steered so long as they 
circled round the island. Their only object was to 
stop out on the sea, and, as they had brought a 
picnic basket with them, there was nothing to urge 
their return until sunset. In the course of the after¬ 
noon they had coasted below Monte Solaro, and 
found themselves approaching the entrance that led 
to the Blue Grotto. In the mornings, when the 
steamer brought its crowd of tourists, there was 
generally quite a little fleet of skiffs to be seen here, 
but now, with the exception of a solitary boat, the 
famous cavern was deserted. To avoid passing too 
near to even this one craft Mr. Carson steered away 
from the shore, but turned his head in consternation, 
for loud and unmistakable cries of “help” were ring¬ 
ing over the water, and the occupants, frantically 
waving handkerchiefs, were evidently doing their 
utmost to attract his attention. Common humanity 
demanded that he must at least go and see what was 
the matter, so he reluctantly altered his course. 

In a boat close to the entrance of the grotto were 
several young people, and Lorna instantly recog¬ 
nized Angus, Stewart, Jess, Michael, and Peachy. 
They appeared in much anxiety, and directly they 
were within hailing distance they called out their 
news: 

“Mr. Beverley and Vincent and Irene have gone 


The Blue Grotto 309 

inside the grotto, and they don’t seem able to get out 
again. We can hear them shouting for help.” 

The party, in their British imprudence, had not 
brought a boatman, and they were uncertain what to 
do. Their own barque was too large to go through 
the narrow opening into the cavern, and they looked 
hopefully at Mr. Carson’s little skiff. 

“We don’t know what’s happened,” gulped Jess. 

“They went in to explore the Roman passage.” 

“Just by themselves.” 

“They’ve been gone such a long time,” volunteered 
the others. 

“Listen,” said Peachy. 

For from out the low entrance of the grotto 
floated a faint far-off echoing ghost of a shout. 

Lorna glanced imploringly at her father. He did 
not hesitate for a moment. The man who had in¬ 
jured him was inside the cavern, perhaps in deadly 
danger, and he was going to risk his own life and 
his daughter’s to save him. And risk there undoubt¬ 
edly was. A breeze had arisen and agitated the sur¬ 
face of the water, so that the ingress was smaller 
than ever and more difficult to compass. When 
waves lashed the tideless Mediterranean even the 
Capri fishermen shunned entering the grotto, for 
they knew its perils only too well. Telling Lorna 
to lie flat on her back Mr. Carson took the same 
position, and with infinite difficulty managed to man¬ 
euver the skiff into the rocky entrance. There was 


- 310 The Jolliest School of All 

barely room, for each wave bumped it against the 
roof, but by clinging to the chain he worked his way 
along and shot through into the lake within. On 
the right of the cavern three figures, holding a light, 
stood on a kind of landing-place, while a skiff drift¬ 
ing far off in the shadows told its own tale. 

Mr. Carson rowed at once to retrieve the truant 
boat, and towed it back to its owners. 

“We thought we had tied it securely,” explained 
Mr. Beverley. “We were utterly aghast when we 
came back and found it had drifted. It would have 
been a horrible experience to stay here all night. If 
the sea rose we might even have been imprisoned 
for days. We were fools to come, but I didn’t re¬ 
alize the danger.” 

“The sea is much rougher already,” said Mr. 
Carson. “It’ll be a ticklish matter to get out again, 
and the sooner we do it the better. Will you go 
first and I’ll follow on after?” 

“It’s like you, Lorna, to come to rescue us. I 
always called you my good angel,” choked Irene, as 
she entered the skiff. “I thought just now I was 
never going to see you again in this world. Let’s 
get out of this horrible place as fast as we can. It’s 
like Dante’s Inferno. I’ve never been so frightened 
in all my life.” 

One after the other the two skiffs started on their 
risky exit from the grotto, scraping and bumping 
against the roof with the water on a level with the 


311 


The Blue Grotto 

gunwale; one wave indeed overflowed and soused 
them, but the next moment they sighted the sky and 
grazing through the entrance they gained the open 
water. 

It was only when, in the clear afternoon daylight 
he turned to thank his rescuer that a flash of recog¬ 
nition flooded Mr. Beverley’s face. 

“Cedric Houghten ! You ! You !” he stammered, 
as if almost disbelieving the evidence of his own 
eyes. 

“Yes, it is I; but having seen me, forget me,” 
returned Mr. Carson, his dark face flushed and his 
hand on the oar. “It’s the one favor you can do me 
for saving you. Let me vanish as I came, and don’t 
try to follow me. I only hope we may never cross 
each other’s paths again.” 

“Cedric! Come back!” yelled Mr. Beverley, as 
the skiff’ shot away. “Man alive! We’ve been 
searching for you for years. Don’t you know that 
we’ve proved your innocence! Come back, I say, 
and let me tell you.” 


It was late that evening, after a very long talk 
with Mr. Beverley, that Lorna’s father explained to 
her the circumstances that had cleared his name. 

“David had no more embezzled the money than I, 
and, thank God, he has no idea I ever distrusted him. 
When a further sum went, Mr. Fenton set a trap, 



312 The Jolliest School of All 

and discovered to his infinite grief that it was his own 
son who had been robbing the firm. It practically 
broke him, and he has retired from all active share 
in the business now. They packed young Fenton off 
to New Zealand to try farming instead of finance, 
but he’s not doing any good there. Mr. Fenton, 
it seems, was most anxious to find me and right the 
injustice done me, but I had hidden myself so well 
under an assumed name in Naples that it was impos¬ 
sible for them to trace me. They advertised in the 
Agony column of The Times 9 but I avoided English 
papers, so never saw the advertisements. My efforts 
to escape notice were only too successful, and, al¬ 
though I didn’t know it, I was actually defeating 
my own ends by my caution. If, as I intended, I 
had started for a new continent, I might so com¬ 
pletely have broken all links with my old life that I 
might have gone to my grave in ignorance that my 
innocence was proved. It was only the marvelous 
chance of this afternoon’s meeting that cleared up 
the tangle. I can look the world in the face again, 
now, and not fear the sight of an Englishman. Oh, 
the joy of having got one’s honor back untarnished! 
Next best to that is to know it was not my friend 
who had wronged me. The belief in his treachery 
was half the bitterness of those dreadful years. 
Capri has been a fortunate island for us, Lorna. 
It’s truly called the ‘Mascot of Naples,’ and I shall 
love it to the end of my days. I can take my old 
name again now and be proud of it. You’re Lorna 



313 


The Blue Grotto 

Houghten in future, not Lorna Carson. What a 
triumph to write to our relations and tell them the 
glorious news. I feel like a man let loose from 
slavery.” 

To Lorna also this happy consummation of all 
their troubles seemed a relief almost too great for 
expression. That Irene, her own Renie, should be 
the daughter of her father’s favorite friend, and 
therefore a hereditary as well as a chosen chum, 
was a special delight, for it welded the links that 
bound them together. The future shone rosy, and 
she felt that w T herever her life might be cast the 
Beverleys would alw r ays remain part and parcel of 
it. Perhaps the triumph she appreciated most of all 
was the introduction of her father to the Cameron 
Clan. No more hiding in out-of-the-way corners 
and avoiding the very sound of a British voice; 
henceforth they might hold up their heads with the 
rest and take again their true position. She was 
proud of her father: now that the black cloak of 
despair had dropped away from him, his old happier 
nature shone out and he seemed suddenly ten years 
younger. To present him into the intimate circle of 
her friends realized her dearest wish. 

“It’s been a wonderful week-end,” said Peachy, 
standing with her girl friends on the quay to wave 
good-by to the Monday morning steamer that bore 
some of their relations back to Naples and business. 
“Here’s Lorna with a new name, and Renie with a 
fresh cousin. Haven’t you heard? Why, Captain 


314 The Jolliest School of All 

Preston popped the question last night, and he and 
Marjorie announced their engagement at the break¬ 
fast table. Not the most romantic place to glean up 
congratulations, but, of course, that’s just as you 
think about it. When I get engaged it shall be an¬ 
nounced by moonlight, so that I can hide my blushes. 
I don’t ever want the holidays to end. Capri’s the 
dandiest place in Italy, and if Dad doesn’t buy a villa 
here I’ll never forgive him. You want one too, 
Lorna? Hooray! We’ll make a Colony of Camel¬ 
lia Buds on the little island and spend the summer 
here. We may be globe-trotters and all the rest of 
it, but I vote we get up a good old Anglo-Saxon 
League and stick together for better or for worse. 
I’ll buy a Union Jack to-day if the Cameron Clan 
will promise to wave the Stars and Stripes, and 
sing ‘Yankee Doodle’ with ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ ” 

“We’ve welded America already into the clan, 
dear bairn,’’ smiled Mrs. Cameron. “No other 
visitor keeps us alive like you do.” 

“Pronounce thy wishes, O Peach of the West,” 
laughed Stewart. “We rechristen thee Queen of 
the South.” 

“Then I summon you all some day to come back 
to this, my kingdom by the sea. School is school 
and I’ve got to have another term there, but I want 
to feel this happy island is waiting for us to return 
to it. You promise? Thanks! Here’s a new ver¬ 
sion then of the old song—composed by Miss Pris¬ 
cilla Proctor, please! 


The Blue Grotto 


315 


‘Should auld adventures be forgot 
And ne’er provoke a smile? 

Should auld adventures be forgot 
Upon this happy isle? 

For auld lang syne, my dears, for auld lang syne, 

We’ll all return to Capri’s shore for auld lang syne.’ 

H’m—a poor thing, but mine own!” 

“There are two of us at any rate who won’t forget 
to come back,” said Lorna, linking her arm fondly 
in Irene’s as they walked away from the quay. 


THE END. 

















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